



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 







THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 

OR 

WINNING A MILLIONAIRE 


By LOUISE VON HAFFNER 



NEW YORK 
1907 




LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Cooies Received 


JAN 8 190r 


Copyrieht Entry * 

0 G> 

CLASS A XXc., No. 

/ (s 3 (o 70, 

COPY B. 


Copyright, 1906, 

By LOUISE VON HAFFNER. 


Hffectior\ately Dedicated 
to n\y Ufjcle 

WILLIAM ARMSTRONG COBB 


\ 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. 

Fifty China Dolls g 

CHAPTER 11 . 

Why the First Child is Peculiar 19 

CHAPTER III. 

Jean’s Disappointment 25 

CHAPTER IV. 

Jean Leaves Home 31 

CHAPTER V. 

Mrs. Millet Shows her Temper 38 

CHAPTER VI. 

Mrs. Millet’s and Clara’s Social Hit 44 

CHAPTER VII. 

Jean Meets the Mysterious Lady from Boston 57 

CHAPTER VIII. 

No Wedding Bells 81 

CHAPTER IX. 

What the Bishop Told Jean 89 

CHAPTER X. 

Joe Richmond’s Escape from the Hospital 94 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER XL 

Jean Stands Up in the New 99 

CHAPTER XIL 

Mrs. Slocum as a Match-maker 120 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Jean Hears Winston Rand’s Story 139 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Across the River at Midnight 155 

CHAPTER XV. 

The Arrival of Mrs. Rand 168 

CHAPTER XVI. 

How Robert Nash Spent Ten Years 185 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Jean Hears Important News 201 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Jean and Winston Rand Drift Apart 212 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Clara Langley Meets Ralston Newbanks 217 

CHAPTER XX. 

Back to America 230 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 

OR 

WINNING A MILLIONAIRE 


CHAPTER L 

FIFTY CHINA DOLLS. 

J EAN Richmond was a girl just entering her teens 
when the Civil War broke out — the eldest daughter 
in a family of nine. 

Her father, Clay Richmond, a tailor by trade, was 
a very devout man of Methodist persuasion. Brother 
Richmond was always among the first in church and 
about the last to leave. 

When the minister needed a suit or new coat. 
Brother Richmond was the man always delighted to 
have the privilege of supplying the need. 

It was Bible reading and prayer before breakfast, 
and evening prayer and Bible reading before retiring. 
At no time was Clay Richmond known to open the 
much-worn Bible until every member of the family 
was present. Should he glance over his “specs” and 
find one missing he quickly despatched another 
member to find the missing one, waiting patiently 
their return. 

Jean was nothing if not original and independent. 
She never could regulate her time or her habits in 
harmony with others. If particularly interested in 


10 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


anything, Jean never for a moment considered time. 
She was impulsive and romantic, always soaring for 
higher ideals and something out of the ordinary. None 
shouldered the responsibility of predicting just what 
she really would attempt next. 

Clay Richmond’s home was the “rendezvous” 
for ministers and their wives ; in fact, the Meth- 
odist brethren in general. The table was always 
set, and provided with extra seating capacity for 
“some one” who might drop in just at the noon hour. 
There was always room for one more. 

Invariably, when a large company of Methodist 
brethren and their wives appeared, Jean was sure to 
disappear. Mrs. Richmond would call and search the 
place without avail. Then she would instruct some 
of the smaller children to make a tour of the neigh- 
borhood and find Jean. “Oh, what a girl !” exclaimed 
Mrs. Richmond. “Always on the go just when she’s 
most needed.” The children not infrequently returned 
with the same old song : “Mamma, we can’t find her.” 
After searching everywhere, and at last giving up 
the idea of seeing her the rest of the day, her voice 
would ring out, “Hello!” Then a moment’s silence, 
while the children, Mrs. Richmond and old “black 
mammy” looked in every direction to locate the voice. 
“Hello!” would sound again through the air. Then 
Jean would give a hearty laugh from the top of the 
cherry tree in the back yard, or some other equally 
ridiculous hiding place. Her ideas of life, even at 
this age, were pronounced. The world was here, and 
she was in it. All she had to do was do as 


FIFTY CHINA DOLLS 


II 


she pleased, which she invariably did — like a butter- 
fly fluttering here, there and everywhere ; no one 
knew just where. In school she cared only for books 
treating on astronomy, ancient history, Greek, Latin, 
and, by all means, mythology. Jean believed herself 
to be specially favored as a daughter of the gods, 
therefore, must study all pertaining to them. Gram- 
mar, spelling and arithmetic — bosh! what a lot of 
trouble ! All very well for some, but too much of 
a humdrum for her. In one way or another Jean 
always had a score of engagements to fill after school 
ere going home. It was either across town with 
Jessie Stanley, or over on the hill to see Nettie Banks. 
This trio was inseparable, and matched up to a stripe. 
Where you saw one, the other two could be counted 
on as close seconds. “When shall we three meet 
again?” never bothered them. They were, as the 
town people expressed it, “The dare-devils of the 
town.” Not in the sense of bad, but so mischievous. 
Both old and young had to be on the alert and watch 
closely, since this trio lived out their belief, that the 
calendar contained 365 joke and April-fool days 
for their special benefit. It was not surprising, then, 
when anything unusual occurred in school that the 
teachers never troubled themselves to look elsewhere, 
but quickly summoned the Banks, Richmond and 
Stanley syndicate (as they were called) to appear and 
answer the charge against them. It is needless to 
say they were always equal to the occasion with 
excuses. Somehow Jean always managed to know 
her lessons, though no one knew just how she did 


12 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


it. She was always on the go, and never seen or 
known to pin her mind down to study. Her father 
would make her sit near his work-table each evening 
with her books. But one only had to watch Jean’s 
countenance to know her mind was everywhere but 
on her studies. She knew, too, while her father was 
kind and good, she dare not leave that grammar, 
speller or arithmetic until the hour he gave for study 
was up. 

In school the teachers encouraged the pupils to 
study by offering a prize of fifty cents each month 
to the one remaining head of their class the longest. 
Jean’s efforts to win the prize were too spasmodic; 
she always came so near and yet so far. But on 
this one particular occasion Jean broke the record 
by surprising everybody and herself as well in win- 
ning the much-coveted prize. Her teacher made a 
little complimentary speech to the effect that '‘she 
hoped Jean would now come out victor each month.” 
This caused a merry laugh among the pupils, although 
some will never understand how Jean Richmond, that 
wild “tomboy,” won the prize when they studied so 
much harder. 

As usual Jean had too many important engagements 
to fill ere going home. That was such an insignificant 
matter to consider. The house would not run away. 
She could go home any time. 

Jean walked down town with a whole bevy of girls 
at her heels, each suggesting what she would buy if 
she had fifty cents. Their mouths began to water, 
and their eyes dilate, as Jean walked in the little candy 


FIFTY CHINA DOLLS 


13 


store with an air of one who knows. Of course 
each girl following in Jean’s steps began to exercise her 
imagination as to the particular kind of candy she 
would select when invited to make her choice. But 
think you Jean Richmond was after candy? Not 
much ! She called for the little “black tray” and 
contents exposed in the show window, and bought 
out the entire stock of fifty little china dolls, giving 
every girl in sight a doll. Her sister Millie had 
hurried home to tell the wonderful news, that Jean 
had actually won the prize. Mrs. Richmond could 
hardly believe it, and since Jean had not come home 
to verify the statement, she went about her household 
duties, thinking it only another report the children 
had circulated to tease Jean. 

It was long past the evening meal when Mrs. Rich- 
mond, glancing at the mantel clock, exclaimed, “Eight 
o’clock, and Jean not home! Did I ever see such a 
girl, Joe?” Then, calling her eldest boy, a lad 
of nine years, she said, “Go, find your sister Jean, 
and tell her to come home at once.” It had become 
an established fact that one of the younger Rich- 
monds had to be kept on hand, more or less all the 
time, for the sole purpose of looking for Jean. 

On this particular occasion Joe found his sister 
at Jessie Stanley’s house, perfectly contented and 
enjoying herself. She had eaten supper with Nettie 
Banks, and intended dividing honors by staying all 
night with Jessie. However, upon second consideration, 
after seeing her brother, and receiving her mother’s 
message, she decided it might be just as well to stay 


14 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


another night with Jessie and return home, especially 
since they had gone to the trouble of sending for her. 

In reaching home they heard Millie crying as 
though her heart would break. “I wonder what is 
the matter with Millie,’’ said Jean. 

“She’s crying because every girl in school got a 
china doll but her,” replied Joe as they entered the 
house. 

Mrs. Richmond’s first question was, “Well, lucky 
girl, I heard you won a prize, and presume you took 
the afternoon off to celebrate in your own special style. 
Will you allow us to see your prize?” 

“I haven’t got it,” replied Jean, sheepishly, edging 
toward the door as though to gain an outlet in case 
of a storm, the importance of a prize just dawning 
upon her. 

“You have no prize,” exclaimed Mrs. Richmond; 
“why your brother and sister saw the teacher give 
you the prize. Now, Jean, what have you done with 
it?” continued her mother in astonishment. 

“I spent it,” replied Jean, covering her eyes with 
one arm, 

“You spent your prize money!” cried Mrs. Rich- 
mond. “Why, Jeannie Richmond, what could you 
have spent your prize for?” 

“For fifty little china dolls,” simpered Jean. 

“Oh, then, we can open a doll store, with fifty dolls 
to start business on,” quickly replied her mother. 

“I gave them away,” hastily cried Jean, who by this 
time was shaking as though a chill had come over 
her. 


FIFTY CHINA DOLLS 


15 


said Mrs. Richmond, more surprised than 
ever, “you have neither prize nor dolls, and you remem- 
bered every schoolmate in town but your little sister.” 

“I did not see her,” cried Jean. 

“Yes, and you were too busy to come home, where 
you would find her,” replied Mrs. Richmond. “Now, 
for your punishment you are to go right out after 
your breakfast to-morrow, and gather up every one 
of those dolls, take them back to ‘Specklebug’s’ store 
and get your prize money. Fll teach you how to spend 
your prize before coming home first and telling your 
father and mother about it. I am really ashamed of 
you, Jeannie; just when I ought to feel most proud. 
Your teacher will think you greatly appreciated your 
prize, getting rid of it so soon,” said Mrs. Richmond, 
as she left the room. It is hard to say whether Jean 
slept any that night or not. 

Next morning found her out bright and early hunt- 
ing china dolls she had only the day before given away 
with such a light and merry heart. She hardly knew 
which direction to start in first. Girls in school were 
easy to find. But girls out of school, especially the 
particular ones she wanted now, was another question. 

Jean had gathered in fifteen dolls, and began to 
think it almost as easy as giving them away, until she 
struck against the sixteenth; then her troubles began. 

Nettie Banks had traded off her doll to Rosie Dixon 
for some white lace to finish her big wax doll’s dress. 
So Jean started across town after Rosie Dixon. On 
the way over she gathered in three dolls and more 
trouble, as along the route she found nearly all the 


i6 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


dolls had been traded off to such an extent it was 
hard to tell where all those fifty dolls really were 
traveling to. 

Finally reaching Rosie Dixon’s house, pretty well 
tired out, Jean found Rosie and another little friend 
up to their eyes in doll rags. Rosie had just finished 
the fourteenth dress for her china doll, “Angelia” by 
name. 

“See ! See, Jean !” exclaimed Rosie. “Isn’t she cute?” 

“Yes, Rosie, it is very pretty,” replied Jean ; “and if 
I had my way, Rosie, I’d give you fifty more dolls, 
rather than take that one from you.” 

“What! Take my doll? My ‘Angelia?’ Well, I 
guess not!” shouted Rosie, looking defiantly at Jean. 
“Why, I gave Net Banks all my nice white lace off 
my own Sunday petticoat for this dear little china doll. 
No, indeed, you haven’t any mortgage on my doll, 
Jeannie Richmond. And I won’t, just won’t give it 
up. Besides,” continued Rosie, “you didn’t give it 
to me.” 

“No; but I bought them with my prize money,” 
said Jean. “And mamma said I had to take them all 
back to ^Specklebug’s’ and get my money, just because 
I did not give my sister one.” 

“Well, you mean, old selfish thing, why didn’t you 
give your sister one, and save all this fuss?” scorn- 
fully retorted Rosie. 

“Because I did not see her when I was giving them 
away. I did not even keep one for myself,” replied 
Jean. 

Mrs. Dixon, overhearing the conversation, and 


FIFTY CHINA DOLLS 


17 


being an intimate friend of Mrs, Richmond, came 
out of her room, and, after learning the errand Jean 
was on, advised Rosie to give up the doll if there 
was any misunderstanding about it, saying, “I’ll give 
you money to buy more dolls, Rosie, dear.” 

“Yes, mamma; but I’ve already named my dolly, 
and she’s just getting used to her name,” replied Rosie, 
tearfully. 

“I am very sorry, Rosie, to have to ask you to give 
up the doll,” interrupted Jean. 

“Oh, you’re not sorry at all !” snapped Rosie. 
“You’re a mean, stingy old Indian giver, now. You 
never was used to anything but old rag dolls, any- 
way. There, take your old doll,” throwing it at Jean. 
Rosie continued, much excited, “I don’t want it,” 
whispering to her companion, then looking at Jean. 
“It’s no good anyway. One toe is broke off and the 
eyes don’t match. Pshaw ! I wouldn’t have such a 
doll,” said Rosie, spitefully. “I’ll just go right over to 
Net Banks and get my lace.” 

Jean had now thirty-eight dolls, but where to find 
the other twelve was a mystery. Some had traded 
them off for hair-ribbon, candy, pictures, chewing 
gum, pickles, and one boy had given his harmonica 
to Ruth Billings for her doll, to give to his little 
crippled sister, and he wasn’t going to let his sister 
give it up, for he heard Ruth had played all the music 
out of his harmonica, even blew the front piece off 
into the fireplace, and it was no good now, and he 
just wouldn’t “swap” back. 

It must be remembered these dolls were something 


i8 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


new in this little town. And Mr. ‘‘Specklebug,” the 
children’s candy friend, ordered only a few to see 
how they would take, displaying them in his show 
window the very day Jean won the prize, and she 
took them all. So there were none to be had outside 
of the fifty Jean had started in circulation. 

Jean succeeded in gathering all the dolls but two. 
Presenting herself at '‘Specklebug’s” store late in the 
afternoon, her heart fluttering like a bird, as she told 
Mr. “Specklebug” what her mother had commanded 
her to do as a punishment for not first coming home. 
“Specklebug” took the dolls as he threw the money at 
Jean, giving her a wild-man look and ordering her 
never to come in his store again with her foolishness. 
It is needless to say the experience taught Jean a 
lesson never to travel around doll stores with prize 
money and all the youngsters in town at her heels. 


CHAPTER II. 


WHY THE FIRST CHILD IS PECULIAR. 

M rs. Richmond noticed Jean’s little coral necklace 
which her aunt brought her from the West was 
missing. “Why, I’m quite sure she wore it to 
school the morning she won the prize. What could 
the child have done with it?” thought Mrs. 
Richmond, as she searched each bureau drawer. “Is it 
possible she has given that away, too?” 

That evening Clay Richmond and his wife had a 
long talk regarding Jean. 

“Indeed I do not knoAv what to do with Jean,” said 
Mrs. Richmond, opening up the conversation first. 
Her good heart will be the ruination of her yet. 
Why, the girl has no thought whatever of the value 
of things, or that she actually needs herself what she 
gives away. She just strikes up acquaintances at will. 
Everybody’s her friend right from the start, and 
nothing pleases her better than to be giving, giving, 
giving all the time. “Why,” continued Mrs. Richmond, 
much excited, “she would give her head off her shoul- 
ders if she could conveniently get it off. I did not 
tell you at the time, but it was only last week she 
marched home in all that rain barefooted.” 

“Barefooted!” exclaimed Clay Richmond, speaking 
for the first time since his wife began the conversation 
on the subject of Jean. 

“Yes, barefooted!” replied his wife. “I said. 


20 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


‘Jeannie Richmond, where are your shoes and stock- 
ings?’ ‘Oh, I gave them to a poor little girl, mamma. 
Her papa died last week,’ said Jean as innocently as 
though shoes grew on trees. And, Clay, no 
one knew anything about my new ‘counter- 
pane.’ I hadn’t even shown it to a neighbor 
yet. This morning I noticed when I went in the 
‘spare’ room one whole side of my beautiful counter- 
pane was ruined.” 

“What ! A counterpane I paid $25 for, and only in 
the house two weeks?” exclaimed Clay Richmond, in 
utter astonishment. 

“Literally ruined!” exclaimed Mrs. Richmond. “I 
took Millie and Joe straight to the room when they 
came in from school to see if they knew anything 
about it. Millie never saw the spread before, and 
when I showed where all the nice peacocks were cut 
out on one side, Millie exclaimed, ‘O mamma, Rosie 
Dixon, Jessie Stanley, Net Banks and Jean have lovely 
big peacocks, just like those for book-marks.’ 
You see, now. Clay Richmond, how destructive 
and bad Jean is. Indeed, I’m greatly worried about 
her,” sighed Mrs. Richmond. “Something must be 
done.” 

“Well, scolding will do no good,” said Clay Richmond, 
scratching his head thoughtfully. “And having a good 
heart must not be counted such a grievous fault. We’ll 
just have to talk to Jean and teach her to use reason 
on when, where, and what to give. She is the most 
tender-hearted child we have, Jane, and you know 
the least thing wounds her feelings deeply. I know 


WHY FIRST CHILD IS PECULIAR 21 


she’s a peculiar child in some respects, entirely different 
from the other children. She’s bright and friendly ; in 
fact, I hear it everywhere that everybody loves Jean. 
I try to scold her for things I see myself at times 
should be corrected, but in the end suffer more myself 
by doing so. We’ll just have to correct her by kind- 
ness, and pray for light and knowledge in the matter.” 

“Yes, and while our eyes are shut praying' for light 
she’s giving away or damaging everything in sight,” 
interrupted Mrs. Richmond. 

“Well,” continued Clay Richmond, in his droll way, 
“you must remember, Jane, the first child must not 
be held accountable for having ofttimes more peculiar 
traits than the other children that follow as the years 
pass. For, generally speaking, a woman, when first 
married, is dodging, hiding and keeping up a con- 
tinual timid and false alarm, fearing that ‘some- 
body’s “peek-a-booing” at her every time she goes 
outside the door,’ besides getting other queer notions in 
her head, such as how best to skip part of the twenty- 
eighth verse in the first chapter of Genesis. It’s a great 
wonder to me that the first child comes to light looking 
like anything, either mental or physical.” 

“Oh, pshaw ! More man theory ! What’s a woman 
going to do ? She’s either stamped as having too much 
‘false modesty,’ or being bold and brazen. Of the 
two evils, I prefer the former,” proudly asserted Mrs. 
Richmond, as she continued, “You know. Clay Rich- 
mond, the Bible says, ‘Spare the rod and spoil the 
child.’ Jean needs a rod, if anyone ever did.” 

“Yes, I know all that,” bluntly replied her husband. 


22 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


''But Jean isn’t a bad child. She’s simply quick and 
impulsive. She’s the best child we’ve got in many 
respects. If anyone is sick Jean’s the first to run 
her feet off, if need be, or sit up all night to help 
anyone. And I tell you, Jane, that is when we can, 
or ought to, appreciate a kind turn most. When we’re 
down sick, unable to help ourselves, even the hand of 
a child contains the power of a lion. No, Jean is not 
a bad child,” repeated Clay Richmond, thoughtfully, 
wiping a tear from his eye, as a picture flitted across 
his memory of some little deed of kindness Jean had 
done, and which he did not mean to erase while life 
should last. 

"Jean is all right, but her good heart will have to 
be curbed in some way. Every beggar in town has 
her spotted as an easy mark. Something will have 
to be done,” sternly spoke Mrs. Richmond, bringing 
one foot down impatiently on the floor. 

Thus would Clay Richmond and his wife often 
drift into conversation regarding their eldest child. 
The other children seemed apparently manageable on 
the "good heart” subject. They were only too glad 
to get all they saw coming, and hold out their hands 
for more. 

Things ran on in this style until Jean was twelve 
years of age, when suddenly everything was thrown 
in wild confusion by the outbreak of war between 
the States. The peaceful influence of the past was 
changed as in the twinkling of an eye. Clay Rich- 
mond’s house, like many others, large and roomy, was 
taken for army quarters. It was no time now to 


WHY FIRST CHILD IS PECULIAR 23 


discuss how to raise children, but how best to protect 
them and oneself from the flying shot and shell. In 
many cases this task was left to women, who hereto- 
fore knew nothing regarding cares or responsibilities. 
But now fathers, husbands and brothers were all 
carrying a musket, and they had to shoulder the cares 
of home and do the very best they could under the 
varied circumstances. But history long since recorded 
the heroic deeds and bravery of the Southern women. 

Mrs. Richmond had given almost everything out of 
her storehouse to feed the army, when an order came 
to her for more salt. She had only one fifty-pound 
sack left, so she decided to reserve a pitcherful for 
her own family use. As she was about to leave the 
storehouse a soldier appeared, pointing his bayonet 
at her, with the command, '‘Drop that pitcher you 

d rebel.” It is needless to say she dropped the 

pitcher, and no doubt would be running yet had not 
her husband met her in her sudden flight through the 
hall, making for her room in a terror-stricken state. 
The sentry, a pert young chap, was reported, and justly 
reprimanded for his gross insult, which he claimed to 
be only a joke to frighten the woman. 

Jean just thrived on excitement. It suited her 
nature and style. The soldiers, the uniforms and brass 
buttons, all had a glitter-glary style of life she liked. 
Just the age to see and pick the romantic side from 
the serious conditions now prevailing around her 
home. 

It is needless to state Jean Richmond and Nettie 
Banks were prime favorites. Jessie Stanley’s people 


24 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


had “refugeed.” So she was not there to enjoy what 
Jean and Nettie called “the time of their life.” The 
Northland lads were fighting 'gainst the Southland 
sons, but this did not bar the many love glances cast 
at large toward the fair daughters of the sunny clime, 
in many cases terminating in matches, which, let us 
hope, proved all love matches. 

Little did Clay Richmond think one of his daughters 
would choose a “blue coat.” But, as usual, his favorite, 
wilful, good-hearted Jean decided to cast her , lot, not 
only with a “blue coat,” but one whose native home 
was across the “briny” deep. But fighting for the 
Stars and Stripes and winning one of the State’s fair 
daughters, he claimed, with the vast crowd, his rela- 
tionship of “nephew” to Uncle Sam. 


CHAPTER III. 

jean's disappointment. 

How sad to view the wretched scene, 

In life’s despondent link; 

We meet, we pass upon the green, 

But speak not what we think. 

T he 'war was over, and Jean Richmond was really 
married. Only too short was her dream of love. 
What! Love? Shall we call it love, or the sudden 
awaking from a wild hypnotic influence induced by 
the glitter-glary show of army life upon a mind 
seeking versatility? A child yet, both in years and 
experience, Jean had many lessons to learn. Never 
reared to feel the cares or responsibilities of home, 
it seemed a pretty hard task now to settle down in 
earnest and study realities ; especially since her 
husband, Robert Nash, seemed in no particular hurry 
to leave his father-in-law’s good home and take chances 
by engaging in any active business on his own responsi- 
bility, knowing Jean had a good home, with ‘‘Wel- 
come” standing out in bold letters on the door mat, 
and hospitality the keynote inside. 

Clay Richmond had given his daughter a home on 
one of the prettiest sites in town, commanding from 
all sides a charming view of the surrounding country. 
Here, he hoped, his daughter would be very happy in 
a little home independently her own. But alas 1 it was 
void of one thing her old father did not see until 
later years — the love that time cannot erase. 


26 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


It was a little over a year when, one Sunday night, 
while the wind howled and the rain beat down in 
torrents, a wee, little stranger came into Jean’s life 
and home — her first-born, a son. Always overjoyed 
to greet newcomers, how her heart must have leaped 
with joy at the sound of this little cherub’s voice — the 
crowning gift of love, the light that leads us up to 
better, brighter worlds. But Jean, poor child! her 
ideals and hopes were shattered. The love that makes 
life one perpetual dream of bliss was missing. Her 
joy was nipped in the bud. A proud-spirited girl 
tied to a man who never concerned himself whether 
the girl he had married was properly cared for. It 
never occurred to him that while his wife cared 
for their children and home it was his duty, 
and should be his pleasure, to see that they were 
properly provided for. Fortunately for Jean, her 
mother was the “angel” that supplied and looked after 
her very needs. When Jean or her baby needed things 
Mrs. Richmond would only sigh, and tell Jean to 
go to the “store” and order what she wanted. Her 
father would settle all in with his family account. 

All was well with Jean until her mother died. Then, 
as the demand for incidentals presented themselves, 
with nothing to supply the deficiency, no mother to 
confide in, Jean realized for the first time the impor- 
tant part her mother played in her married life. Jean 
was now about seventeen years of age, with two 
children. She had never gone to her father for 
anything; her mother saw her needs, and, without 
communicating the news to her husband, supplied 


JEAN^S DISAPPOINTMENT 


27 


them. And in this manner Clay Richmond naturally 
supposed Robert Nash was caring for his little family 
as he should do. 

It would take old Mrs. O’Reef, who nursed and 
cared for Jean in her sickness, to give Robert Nash 
a dressing down, which she did very often, leaning 
with her head and arms hanging over the back fence, 
enjoying a little gossip with her neighbors. 

“I tell ye, Mrs. O’Neely. I say, says I, any gintle- 
man who claims any manhood at all ought to consider 
it not only his duty, says I, but feel a proide in caring 
for his family. If this proide is lacking, there’s no 
heart in such a schamp. He’s below the brute. For 
sure ye know, Mrs. O’Neely, the brute has the affec- 
tionate instinct for their little ‘brutlets’ that ought to 
shame a two-legged schamp like Bob Nash.” 

^'Yes, yes,” responded Mrs. O’Neely ; ‘‘and the loike 
av him talking superior intelligence. He’s a selfish 
incubator that ought to be on the condemned list.” 

“Indeed ye are right,” interrupted Mrs. O’Reef. 
“Nothing short of a harem would suit the loikes 
av his stoile. It would be a wise idea to suggest the 
loikes av Bob Nash being banished to the ‘Kingdom 
av Ashantee.’ Ye’ve heard av the place. I’m sure.” 

“I have, then,” replied Mrs. O’Neely; but me 
memory’s short on long shtories.” 

“Sure, don’t ye moind,” exclaimed Mrs. O’Reef. 
“It’s where the ‘sovereigns’ have several thousand 
wives, all av whom, with his principal men, are shlain 
at his death, that they may be his servants in the next 
world.” 


28 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


'‘Glory above!” exclaimed Mrs. O’Neely. “Where 
did ye iver read such a shtory? It’s a wonderful 
memory ye have, Mrs. O’Reef. Now, for meself, I 
reads many things in me Farmer’s Almanac, but me 
brain must be loike a sifter, for nothing shtays in it.” 

“Bridget! O Bridget, where are ye?” 

“Glory above! There’s me man, Mike, home for 
dinner, Mrs. O’Reef, and not a morsel shtarted. 
There’ll be fire in his brain instead of the stove if I 
don’t be moving away from this fence. Good-bye! 
Yes, I’ll see ye after dinner.” 

Jean had been married six years, and three chubby 
youngsters claimed her undivided attention. Jean 
had many friends who loved her dearly. But it nearly 
broke her heart having to live among her old associ- 
ates with a husband who would not, at least did not, 
make some attempt to provide for his family. She 
tried very hard to keep all these feelings from her 
father. But at last, driven to desperate measures, she 
took her three children home one afternoon while 
Robert Nash was away enjoying a “game fight” with 
his friends. 

“Well, Jean,” exclaimed her father, going out to 
the gate as Jean and her little ones entered. “I’m 
so glad you found time to come and bring the children. 
I was getting real lonesome to see you, child, although 
I heard from you. Robert was here yesterday and 
took dinner with us, and said you were all well, as far 
as he knew; hadn’t heard you complain.” 

“Yes, starving well,” interrupted Jean. “Little does 
he concern himself about his wife or children. Father, 


JEAN’S DISAPPOINTMENT 


29 


Fve just made up my mind never to live with Bob 
Nash again. It’s nothing but children year after year, 
and poverty,” sobbed Jean, throwing her arms round 
her father’s neck and crying like a child. 

Clay Richmond was so surprised and deeply touched ; 
tears stood in his blue eyes as his poor little wilful 
Jean clung like a shipwrecked child to his neck and 
sobbed. Never had he, her father, dreamed of the 
tempest and storm hidden away in the depths of her 
young heart. 

Smoothing back her hair and kissing her white 
forehead. Clay Richmond could hardly speak. But 
in broken sobs he began, “]e2Ln, dear, what is the 
trouble? Tell me child. I always thought you and 
Robert got along all right. You never said anything 
to me, child.” 

“No,” interrupted Jean. “I always had mother to 
go to, but now — she’s — ” and the poor girl, unable to 
finish the sentence, threw her head on her father’s 
shoulder and wept pitifully, as though her heart would 
break, as did her father also. 

Finally he aroused himself and spoke. “Well, stay 
right here, child, in your old home. You and your 
children have a home with your father, Jean; remem- 
ber that, child. You and the little ones are as welcome 
as the flowers in May.” 

“I do not want to remain home, father, and cause 
more expense on your head,” replied Jean. “If you’ll 
only care for the children I’ll go out and make my 
way, and pay their way, too, until I can do better.” 

“What! Work? You, my frail darling! You who 


30 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


have always had a good home until this cruel war 
blighted everything. No, no! thrice no!” exclaimed 
her father, much excited. “My Jean, you my child, 
are not used to work. You know nothing about the 
hardships of the great outer world and the danger- 
pits along the way to ensnare the unwary. Can’t 
Robert support his family,” anxiously inquired Clay 
Richmond, “without your having to resort to this cruel 
measure? Ah, child!” suddenly cried Clay Richmond, 
“there’s room for you all, not only in my house, but 
in my heart. I can help you,” pleaded Jean’s father, 
unwilling to see her go out in the world to battle 
with life’s storm. 

“No, father, you keep the children. I’m going to 
try to support myself and them. Now, do not tell 
Bob Nash where I am. And, above all, do not let him 
take my children,” anxiously pleaded Jean. “I am 
yours, they are mine; so remember, father.” 


CHAPTER IV. 


JEAN LEAVES HOME. 

I T was a bright, sunny morning in June. The birds 
were singing gaily. Even the flowers, aside from 
shedding their fragrance on the air, were waving 
and nodding a welcome to the beautiful morn. Jean 
tripped down the street. Ah ! the same old street she 
and the merry town girls used to tramp from school. 
But now, how changed was everything? She had 
gone but a short distance, when suddenly seized with 
a fear that Bob Nash might return, and, finding her 
gone, would retaliate by “kidnapping” the children. 
Hastily retracing her steps, she decided it would not 
be half so hard having them with her as leaving them 
behind and constantly worrying as to their safety. 
She returned to give her old father another surprise. 
Despite his pleadings Jean took her children with her 
to a small town not fifty miles away. Her purse 
was not flush with money. It never had been during 
her married life. Months passed without her having 
a ten cent piece to call her own. But having a won- 
derful lot of grit and determination, this served quite 
well, as will be seen. Going to a small family hotel, 
Jean engaged board for herself and children. This 
was the first bold step for one without money. But, 
as usual, Jean made friends right in the start. And 
well for her that she could adapt herself to circum- 
stances. Mrs. Boggs, proprietor of the hotel, was 


32 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


completely captivated with Jean’s style. She was not 
in the house three days before Mrs. Boggs began 
picking herself to pieces in a very dissatisfied manner. 
She felt more convinced than ever since Captain 
Boggs’ death that she would have to make some 
radical change in her personal appearance. She and 
the captain had labored all their life to make and save. 
Now he had died without having the opportunity of 
enjoying any of their vast wealth. They had lived 
within themselves, with only one motto before them 
night and day : “Save money !” No children. Nothing 
to live for but money. No one felt sufficiently inter- 
ested to suggest the word “style” to Mrs. Boggs. But 
since the captain’s death she often found herself 
longing for something different from hotel life. What 
wouldn’t she give to look like Mrs. Nash. Other 
guests were equally charmed with the striking little 
“widow,” as Jean was termed throughout the hotel. 
And who could ask for nicer children? She does not 
only know how to wear clothes, but how to rear 
children as well. 

Jean Nash was not a handsome woman. But there 
was something very striking about her manner. 
Ambitious to make her way this enthusiasm illu- 
mined her whole countenance. Looking up business 
was somewhat of a novelty to Jean. She had not 
settled on any particular occupation as yet. She was 
anxious to enter into whatever proved most profitable 
financially. 

Jean possessed wonderful ideas, but knew well it 
required money to execute them. She was a clever 


JEAN LEAVES HOME 


33 


artist in painting and drawing, as well as an expert 
with the needle. She had given the latter subject little 
thought as a permanent occupation, fearing it might 
not prove best for her health, which must be con- 
sidered. However, Mrs. Boggs made her such an 
unexceptional good offer, she undertook the task of 
reconstructing that lady’s style. So successful was her 
undertaking others prevailed upon her to take them 
in charge and do likewise. Thus Jean found herself 
unexpectedly thrown in the very business she deemed 
unwise to enter, and soon had a flourishing business 
that promised to increase each week. Jean soon 
learned she could not attend to all herself, and had 
to seek other hands to help. 

In the meantime another business woman, a Mrs. 
Millet, stopping in the same hotel, did not have much 
to say, but watched Mrs. Nash’s progress with keen 
interest, knowing from all appearance Jean had struck 
the right keynote in business. In conversation 
one evening with Jean, Mrs. Millet suggested the 
idea that they both enter in a partnership business 
together. Jean took time to consider the matter, and, 
liking Mrs. Millet’s business qualities, consented to 
do so in the fall. 

While glancing over the morning papers Jean noticed 
the following ad: 

''Notice to tailors. Offers received on con- 
tract work for firemen’s new coats.” 

The lowest estimate received so far was ten dollars. 
Jean had by this time established quite a feeling of 
confidence within herself. Thinking the subject over 


34 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


deeply, without consulting anyone, Jean sent word to 
headquarters that she would undertake the contract 
for eight dollars apiece. She was invited to show 
a sample of her work. 

Jean, knowing her father knew the trade from start 
to finish, hurriedly took the first train for home. It 
was late in the evening when she arrived, but her 
father was still working away at his machine, finishing 
some extra work. Jean rushed in all out of breath. 

“Howdy do?” she cried, “I’m in a great hurry. Are 
you busy?” 

“Well, yes,” replied Clay Richmond, looking up in 
astonishment, after Jean had released her arms from 
his neck. 

“You must stop long enough to teach me something 
about tailoring,” continued the girl. 

“Jean, what’s the matter? What can you mean 
being in such an excited state? You are now on the 
verge of nervous prostration?” calmly remarked Clay 
Richmond, looking over his “specs” in utter astonish- 
ment at his daughter. 

“Oh, nothing,” replied Jean. I’m nerve-proof, 
father. I’m very busy; not a moment to spare idly. 
You must show me how to cut and fit, and how to 
put a coat together to-night.” 

“Jean, child, you are unreasonable,” exclaimed her 
father. “My child, don’t you know it takes months to 
learn properly what you imagine can be acquired in 
a few hours?” 

“Father,” interrupted Jean, “I have got to be back 
in the morning at my post of duty. My children 


JEAN LEAVES HOME 


35 


and I would starve to death waiting for me to learn 
details. All I want is the most important points in 
a business,’’ continued Jean; “and I’ve got to learn 
them to-night.” 

“What! To-night?” exclaimed her father. 

“To-night,” calmly replied Jean. 

Clay Richmond got down his square and chalk, 
beginning in a half-dazed manner to explain this, that, 
and the other — how that lap goes, how this seam 
turn,s. He could not clearly comprehend or under- 
stand his daughter’s actions. Taking up a coat, and 
about to explain its make-up, he glanced over his 
“specs,” again inquiring, “Jean, I hope you are not 
undertaking tailoring to any extent without more 
knowledge of the business. You might do a little 
repairing. Otherwise, you’ll ruin somebody’s clothes 
and get yourself in trouble.” 

“Father,” interrupted Jean, “I’ve no time to borrow 
trouble, or cross bridges before coming to them. I’ve 
my children to support, and must take chances like 
others, when they’re thrown in my way,” continued 
Jean, as she twisted and turned a coat looking for 
difficult points to be enlightened on. 

“That is very true, my child,” sighed her father. 
“But it’s not so difficult to make women’s clothes, 
as trimmings, bows and lace can cover a multitude 
of defects. As yet no provision has been made to 
cover up crooked seams and defects in men’s clothes. 
You had better stick to women’s clothes.” 

“Why, father, you dear, foolish man,” interrupted 
Jean, “I’ve got to know how to put a coat together 


36 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


to make the ‘Essex’ firemen’s coats for the coming 
parade.” 

“O Jean!” exclaimed Clay Richmond, sinking in a 
chair, the cold perspiration standing on his brow. 
“How can you be so daring, child, undertaking such 
difficult tasks without serving a trade? Child, child! 
What can you mean?” 

“My children all have healthy appetites,” replied 
Jean. “They’d starve to death while I sit down to 
learn a trade. I need, and my children need things. 
And it is this driving necessity and my pride that 
urges me on to surmount obstacles I find in the way. 
I have said I could take that contract, and I’m going 
to take it,” proudly asserted Jean as she leaned over 
her father’s chair, giving him an affectionate kiss, 
remarking, “If I find any ‘Chinese’ puzzles about the 
work I’ll come right down for you to help me out. 
You would help me, father, wouldn’t you?” 

“I will, my child, I will,” answered Clay Richmond 
as he watched her retreating figure leave the door, 
where she halted long enough to throw him a parting 
kiss. 

Jean was quick and bright. She did not have to 
be told the second time how to do anything. She 
worked faithfully three weeks with her little army of 
workers, and finished the twelve coats, not only receiv- 
ing a compliment on her work, but the distinction 
of being the first woman to receive a like contract 
from the city. This went far to increase Jean’s busi- 
ness. It was fall. She and Mrs. Millet had leased 
their place and entered business together. It was no 


JEAN LEAVES HOME 


37 


time before everybody was talking about the '‘Nash- 
Millet” establishment. Everything they undertook or 
introduced in trade was a success. Even in social 
circles their popularity was evident. But in all phases 
of life clouds sometimes rise and obscure the sunshine 
of success and happiness. Very often just when we 
begin to think the rain and clouds have all passed 
over, and after storm and tempest we are once more 
privileged to enjoy a little of the bright sunshine in 
our life, then it is something will arise to thwart 
our plans, convincing us of the fleeting change all 
flesh is heir to, and the folly of pinning our hopes 
and aspirations too high on material things. Thus 
with Jean Nash, after rugged perseverance, pulling 
herself and children out of the gutter of despair, 
disappointment and starvation that Bob Nash left 
them in. Now on the broad thoroughfare of success, 
where she can look upon the work of her own hands 
and see her children properly clothed and fed, with a 
sigh of relief and a prayer of thanksgiving on her 
lips, Jean closed her eyes to dream of their future. 


CHAPTER V. 


MRS. MILLET SHOWS HER TEMPER. 

R obert Nash, hearing of his wife’s success, looms 
up just when prospects look the brightest; being 
Jean’s husband and the father of her children, he 
thinks he has the right to share some of the profits. 
And Jean, good-hearted Jean, was willing to forgive 
for her children’s sake as she witnessed their joy 
over seeing their papa. Not so with Mrs. Millet, who, 
by the way, was as stanch a woman suffragist as 
ever stepped in shoe leather. Strong was her denunci- 
ation of the man who neglected his family. But, stars 
above ! It was well worth a dollar to hear her expound 
views on a man returning to share the fruits of a 
wife’s hard labor. 

“You are on your feet now, and can help yourself,” 
exclaimed Mrs. Millet, “and here he comes sneaking 
around to pull all your good work down again. I’ll 
stick to you and the little ones in business alone. But 
I’ll be ‘gingersnap’ if I strike another lick with that 
scalawag around. 

“You’re an unprincipled scoundrel,” continued Mrs. 
Millet, looking straight at Robert Nash, “or you’d 
never show your brazen face.” 

“These are my children and my wife. Who has a 
better right around here than I?” curtly replied Bob 
Nash, as he lit his cigar and continued, “if you do 
not like my face get out yourself.” So he hung his 


MRS. MILLET SHOWS TEMPER 


39 


hat up as unconcerned as though he was the entire 
business. Mrs. Millet quit, as she declared she would 
when he came in. She was a strong, enduring charac- 
ter, good-hearted and thoroughly reliable. What she 
promised to do was as good as done. Her education 
was limited. She had no accomplishments or polish, 
as she often declared. But her daughter — ah ! she 
should have all the education and advantages possible, 
necessary to make a social hit. If she had missed 
everything herself but hard work, Clara must make a 
social hit in marriage to redeem her from her mother’s 
fate. Unknown to anyone she boarded Clara away 
at one of the most fashionable hotels, with a maid, 
and dressed in the height of fashion. Under no circum- 
stance would she allow Clara to recognize her 
anywhere in public. Clara had already captivated 
one of the richest young men in town. And her mother 
did not intend spoiling matters by appearing on the 
scene. So she kept in the background, sending Clara 
sufficient money each week to royally defray her 
expenses. We’ll hear more about Clara later. 

It was just one year since Bob Nash took up his 
abode as figurehead in his family again. Jean Nash 
had, through illness, lost most of her old trade, and 
not able half the time to attend to business had made 
no new customers. To make matters worse the stork 
again hovered over her head. All her former ambition 
seemed to have left, and now almost completely dis- 
heartened she could do nothing but wait patiently — wait 
the result that unavoidable circumstances had thrust 
upon her as this man’s legal wife. Broken in health 


40 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


and spirit the trade that she and Mrs. Millet worked 
so untiringly to establish that she might independently 
maintain herself and children, was now all swept away 
as in a night, leaving her helpless again. Despite 
Mrs. Millet’s harsh feeling toward Robert Nash, she 
could not bridge over the attachment that had sprung 
up in her heart for Jean and the children, and would 
often drop in to see them. 

“Well,” exclaimed Mrs. Millet, walking in one 
afternoon, and seeing the distress that Jean was in, 
“this is what civilized people call justice. Hum! 
Justice ! Compelled by law to bear children to a man 
who neither concerns himself regarding their support 
or shelter. Hum ! And this is really legalized 
justice! Do not look for anything better,” con- 
tinued Mrs. Millet, much excited, “but a race of 
criminals and suicides as long as these conditions 
prevail. These are the conditions breeding discontented 
minds that afterward prey upon the social sphere. 
Though before the throne of a just God they will be 
shown mercy in their weakness, for He will trace the 
evil back to its origin. Divorce, counted a curse, is a 
godsend to such mismatched, patched-up unions. 
The social question will ever continue to be a social 
problem unsolved as long as women are forced to be 
such legal slaves. But if slaves they must be, through 
the order of creation to multiply and replenish the 
earth, then let the government they live under in 
whatever clime, pension the women who honorably 
bear children, and not shout ‘liberty’ from ocean to 
ocean until they are hoarse, while these real ‘burden- 


MRS. MILLET SHOWS TEMPER 


41 


bearers’ go reeking throughout liberty’s land, not only 
weighed down with pain and suffering, but, in many 
instances, forced to earn, at laborious labor, the very 
morsel that retains the breath of life in their frail 
body, and supposed to fan and nourish the wee spark 
of life entrusted to their keeping, which will glow into 
an animated mind for good or evil. Every woman who 
bears a child deserves a pension. They are the brave, 
the real martyrs, the true soldiers of life.” 

“O Mrs. Millet!” interrupted Jean, ''you ought to 
have been a man. I’m sure you’d made a fine states- 
man, and had us poor women all pensioned shortly after 
Eve’s family began to multiply and replenish the 
earth.” 

"No, I don’t want to be a man, unless it was to 
give Bob Nash a good, sound thrashing for inflicting 
all this unnecessary trouble on you. Here you are,” 
continued Mrs. Millet, much excited, "just where he 
left you before, only worse; another wee mite thrown 
in for good measure. Well, I’ve scolded enough for 
this time. Good-bye! Oh, I came near forgetting 
this nice basket of fruit I brought for you and the 
little ones ! I’ll step in again to see you. Good-bye !” 

Jean’s nurse, Mary McGinty, was a rough, coarse 
woman, acting her part as though it was nothing more 
than natural for things to be all contrariwise instead of 
right, there being nothing refined or sympathetic in her 
nature. Jean was slow in gaining strength — so slow, it 
was necessary for her to return to her old home, where, 
having her own little home in the country, would save 
rent until her health returned sufficiently to enter busi^ 


42 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


ness again. Too independent to depend on her old 
father for everything, Jean tried to support herself 
and family, including an indolent husband. She did 
not mind the work if business was good. It kept her 
mind occupied. But it seemed with Jean one trouble 
never came single. Not strong herself, and her baby 
sick, Robert Nash was seized with a sudden crop of 
energy to take up his grip and leave, on pretense 
of looking up business in more prosperous quarters. 
Again Jean was left to carry the burden alone. 

She was seated at the machine, trying to finish 
some work, when her husband entered the room, 
informing her of his intentions to leave. As no 
previous conversation had taken place between them 
on this subject, Jean was completely unnerved. Nor 
did her emotions change Bob Nash from leaving her, 
with her head and arms resting on the machine, pass- 
ing out the door without a kiss or good-bye for the 
woman who had suffered so much for him and 
forgiven so often. In the yard his children played, 
unmindful of the great mental battle raging within. 
^‘Be good children,” he said, ‘^and I’ll bring you a stick 
of candy.” On he passed out of the yard and out of 
their life, as we shall learn later. 

Jean wept; she knew not how long. Not that she 
was losing anything in the way of financial support. 
She herself supported the family. And with it all 
Robert Nash had earned the name of being mean and 
stingy regarding every household expenditure, until 
the cook at times grew frantic. He’d count the potatoes, 
and the cook repeatedly avowed he’d sit on the flour 


MRS. MILLET SHOWS TEMPER 43 


sack for fear she would run off with some flour 
between meals. No, his going was no great financial 
loss to either his family or the town. But the bitter- 
ness of poor Jean’s anguish was in the thoughts of 
her husband, the father of her children, walking off 
as cool and unconcerned as though he was merely 
going downtown to order more potatoes to count and 
more flour to sit on. 

Finally, rousing herself and remembering the 
unfinished work, her nerves all unstrung, she started 
at her task again. She had sewed only a short time 
when the children heard a piercing scream, and, run- 
ning in the house, followed by their good neighbor, 
Mrs. O’Reef, who at a glance saw that Jean had 
fainted, and, upon close inspection, found she had run 
the machine needle through her thumb, and her hand 
lay imprisoned and bleeding. Quick as a flash Mrs. 
O’Reef unscrewed the needle, giving it one powerful 
pull, which brought Jean to, only to hear her children 
screaming like Indians over their mother’s hurt. 

Jean’s hand, crippled by this accident, and her nerves 
all shattered, it is needless to say she was unfit for 
any kind of work for several weeks. Her babe, poor 
little, fretful mite! grew worse, and finally died. De- 
spite Jean’s troubles and hard struggle to support her 
little family, her mother love could not willingly give 
up even one of her little flock. With her health almost 
shattered, Jean found she could not alone keep the 
little home. It was a hard battle. Not a line from 
Robert Nash, either good, bad, or indifferent, since 
leaving his family destitute again, to root, hog, or die. 


CHAPTER VI. 

MRS. millet's and CLARA's SOCIAL HIT. 

M rs. Millet's husband died in battle, leaving her 
no means of support for herself and child. The 
war, just ^nded, she now had to face the problem 
of bread-winner alone as best she could. She realized 
the startling facts that hard work faced her plainer 
than anything else. What occupation would prove 
most profitable she hardly knew. She had never 
worked hard at home, and going out in the world 
as a wage-earner was a new phase she would have to 
grow accustomed to. After washing and tucking little 
Clara snugly away in bed, Mrs. Millet would sit 
down and think very hard of her plight, and how war 
had suddenly put a blight in her life by taking her 
husband away. ‘‘Ah!” sighed Mrs. Millet, “how he 
would pet and love the baby, weaving bright castles 
in the air as to her future! Now all was changed; 
not even a trace of the castle in the air. All was a 
bubble that vanished from sight as the last sound of 
the battle-cry died away. But, thank God, I have 
Clara !” continued Mrs. Millet, in her loneliness. “She 
will be my star of hope to illumine the dark way.” 

This thought seemed to be a great solace to Mrs. 
Millet. As she contemplated the scene a picture rose 
before her of friends, where father, husband, brothers, 
sons, home, and everything had been swept away. 

Out of these deep reveries Mrs. Millet made up her 


A SOCIAL HIT 


45 


mind to do the best she could and whatever she could 
until finding the most profitable occupation, then pursue 
its course and educate Clara. She first started out 
taking the agency for a machine. Early and late 
Mrs. Millet was seen canvassing around in small 
towns for orders. Indeed, it was no unusual sight to 
see her lifting machines in and out of wagons. If 
curiosity prompted you to inquire why she hired no 
help for such laborious work she would quickly inform 
you that expenses were too high and had to be kept 
down. Year in and year out Mrs. Millet labored in this 
field. Little Clara was kept boarding in a very fashion- 
able part of town as Clara Langley, her middle name 
only. No one suspected the poor machine woman 
was Clara’s mother. When Clara was fourteen years 
old Mrs. Millet sent her off to a fashionable boarding 
school, where she remained until eighteen. The four 
years had passed, and it was now time for Clara 
to finish school. When Mrs. Millet paid her last visit 
to the school it was then she gave Clara the ‘‘orders” 
she was to follow in regard to living at the fashionable 
“Hotel Urbanno,” instructing her regarding how she 
was to receive her money. “And, above all, Clara, 
you are not to recognize me in public owing to my 
occupation.” 

“O mamma,” interrupted Clara, “how can you ask 
such a sacrifice of me?” 

“It is just because I love you, Clara, dear, that I 
sacrifice my feelings for your good. I know better 
than you, dear,” continued Mrs. Millet. “You must 
make a social hit by marrying well. Therefore, obey 


46 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


your mother, dear in this, and all will be well. You 
are highly educated, accomplished, handsome ; in 
fact, there is nothing, dear, in the way to prevent your 
making a great social hit. Do this for your mother’s 
sake,” pleaded Mrs. Millet. “Every week your money 
will come to you. See to it, dear, that your clothes 
are the latest and the best ; in fact, ahead of the style. 
And, if need be, dear, you will go to Europe.” 

“O mamma!” interrupted Clara, “you do not know 
what you are asking of me. I’d be so much happier in 
a little home with you I” 

“Tut, tut !” exclaimed Mrs. Millet. “You must make 
a social hit, and if a trip abroad is necessary, you must 
go. It’s caste, caste, caste, you know, Clara, dear, one 
must have.” 

So within two weeks’ time Miss Langley was 
installed in beautiful apartments in “The Urbanno.” 
Of course Dame Rumor at once stamped her as an 
“heiress” left with all kinds of money. Thus Mrs. 
Millet would hear people commenting on the handsome 
Miss Langley at “The Urbanno.” Under no circum- 
stance would she allow her mother pride in such a 
beautiful daughter to betray itself. All she could think 
of was that Clara must make a social hit — a brilliant 
marriage. Regular as the weeks came Clara received 
her check. She had not only charmed, as was 
previously stated in our story, the richest young man 
in town, but the wealthy mining capitalist, Carlton 
Barnie from Australia. 

Clara made herself agreeable with everyone she met. 
Her manner was always pleasing. It is needless to say 


A SOCIAL HIT 


4; 


she was a favorite with all in the hotel. She seemed 
extremely fond of Carlton Barnie. But the same 
could be said regarding her manner toward Ralston 
Newbanks. No one could quite guess which one really 
would be the lucky suitor. Carlton Barnie was so 
extremely in love, and treated her so very kind. But 
the same can be said of young Newbanks, the railroad 
president’s son and only heir. 

Clara knew her mother favored the capitalist from 
Australia. He was several times a millionaire in his 
own right, and did not have to wait for ‘Mead man’s 
shoes.” 

Clara had been out driving through the park with 
Ralston Newbanks, and was just returning when 
Carlton Barnie was seen leaving the hotel by the 
southern driveway. At the cross streets they met face 
to face. Carlton Barnie’s face flushed scarlet as he 
raised his hat and returned their salute. He had on 
several occasions openly avowed his dislike for Ral- 
ston Newbanks. Not that Ralston had ever given 
him any cause, other than seeking Miss Langley’s 
company. 

“He knows I am your company. Why does he 
persist in hanging around?” Carlton would often say 
in a fit of jealousy. 

“Why, Ralston and I went to high school together,” 
Clara would reply. “How very foolish of you, Carlton, 
to hold a grudge against Ralston because of our old 
‘alma mater’ friendship!” 

“Well, it’s all right to cherish ‘alma mater’ friend- 
ship and schoolday friends,” interrupted Carlton ; “but 


48 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


some fellows are after more than keeping up ‘alma 
mater’ ties when they hang around like Newbanks. 
They’re after the tie that binds.” 

But what could he do or say ? Miss Langley was not 
as yet really betrothed to him, and therefore was at 
liberty to choose her company or go and come at will. 
Thus Carlton Barnie meditated alone. The question 
was, which one did she really love? If she would only 
make some distinction a fellow might know which 
horse to gamble on. But this way of — “Oh, well, 
I’m going to find out. A woman can appear madly 
in love, making a man believe a great deal, and really 
mean nothing at all. Now, at times I almost believe 
that girl worships me,” mused Carlton, half smiling. 
“And I, fool like, just simply lose my head and adore 
her, when I’m suddenly brought to my senses again 
by the appearance of Ralston Newbanks, who claims 
her attention for several days, while I stand around 
feeling as though I was somewhere near the North 
Pole, with a wet blanket thrown on, while he — yes, 
I must swallow it all as innocent ‘alma mater’ friend- 
ship. No, my fair Clara, I’ll learn this very evening 
the truth. It has got to be either Carlton Barnie or 
‘Alma Mater’ Newbanks. I’ll not fool around in the 
distance until a ‘knot’ is tied in the rope of that ‘alma 
mater’ friendship. Then, Carlton Barnie, you can play 
tag in the game of catching another girl. Oh, no; 
I’ll learn the truth to-night!” 

Almost in despair of winning the variable, though 
stately, Clara, Carlton Barnie decided to risk learning 
his fate. Calling at the “Urbanno,” he found Clara 


A SOCIAL HIT 


49 


alone, seated in one of the small rustic pavilions near 
the lake. She had been reading, but the book lay care- 
lessly on the bench half opened, while she gazed out 
on the lake in deep thought, not hearing anyone 
approach. 

'‘Ah, Clara!” ejaculated Carlton, as he drew near 
her side. "In deep thought? I trust they are pleasant 
scenes passing through your mind.” 

"Oh!” exclaimed Clara, "I did not see or hear you 
coming.” 

"Ah ! I trust I have not disturbed your pleasant 
reverie,” interrupted Carlton. 

"Not at all,” responded Clara. "I was just watch- 
ing the firefly in the twilight, and the merry children 
out there on the lake. Just see them, how happy they 
are !” 

"Well, I think myself a row on the lake more pleas- 
ant than sitting here,” said Carlton, as he took Clara’s 
arm and led her to where they entered a boat for 
an hour’s row. On their return Carlton escorted Clara 
to a pleasant seat on the veranda, beneath the huge 
palm plants, both listening to the soft strains of music 
floating up from the pavilion below, where gaily 
attired dancers amused the guests whirling in and 
about in their fantastic dance. Clara broke the silence 
by saying, "I believe the music hath charmed me.” 

"Was it the music?” quickly inquired Carlton. "I 
judged something was claiming your attention. I 
spoke a moment ago, but you were lost in thought, 
and did not hear me.” 

"O Carlton, forgive my apparent rudeness !” 


50 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


exclaimed Clara. “I really did not hear you. What 
did you say? Tell me now, I am all attention, dear.’^ 

“What! That last word! Repeat it again, my 
darling, and tell me you really mean that I am ‘dear' 
to you in every sense of the word,” hastily spoke 
Carlton, taking Clara’s hand in his. 

“Did you really forgive my rudeness in not being 
more attentive just now?” inquired Clara. 

“You are pardoned, my darling, a thousand times,” 
responded Carlton. “I would forgive you always, 
even though the offense were ten times greater. You 
are perfection itself.” 

“Oh, you are kind !” replied Clara. I do not deserve 
your goodness.” 

“Indeed, fair one,” hastily spoke Carlton. “It is 
you who showers your goodness in my path. I should 
be content, I know, to bask in the sunshine of your 
sweet smiles. But I ask more, Clara, dear. This 
beautiful hand, a priceless gift to man from his 
Maker, into whose keeping will it fall?” continued 
Carlton, implanting a kiss thereon. I am sure, darling, 
you have not been blind to my love, even though you 
feign indifference. You know I love you. Tell me 
there is hope; yes, more than hope. Tell me that you 
love me and will be mine, darling.” 

“O Carlton! You do not mean to imagine me so 
rude as to play a role of indifference to your kind- 
ness,” hastily replied Clara. 

“Do not call it kindness on my part, darling; it is 
love, love, holy love, undefiled,” responded Carlton. 
“And since you have no knowledge of being indifferent 


A SOCIAL HIT 


51 


to my love I am happier, then, in believing you are 
innocent of giving offense. It was I who judged you 
wrongly. But, darling, every look you give another is 
as a knife thrust into my heart. I love you so madly. 
Tell me, now, Clara, that you really love me and will 
intrust this little hand into my keeping. No wish of 
your heart shall be ungratified. Tell me, darling, you 
will be mine. Let me close my eyes to-night, knowing 
I have won the brightest star in the galaxy of brilliant 
social lights. Tell me that you love me, darling. I 
must know my fate. I cannot longer rest in this 
suspense. Tell me now,” pleaded Carlton. 

Could I now clasp thee to my breast, 

My heart would beat intensely thine; 

Each life would feel this life’s request — 

Why not then, love, why not be mine? 

Peace serene would ever be. 

Songs in life together sing; 

Throughout all eternity 

Our wedding bells would ring. 

“Give me a little time. I cannot answer to-night,” 
said Clara. 

“Give me hope, sweet hope,” quickly responded 
Carlton, and I’ll wait until to-morrow for your answer, 
darling.” 

“Give me a week,” said Clara. 

“A week!” exclaimed Carlton. “Ah, love, make it 
less I A week would seem an age ; three days a year. 
So make it less, my love; an hour, if you will.” 

“Very well,” said Clara. “The hour is growing late. 


52 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


I’ll lose my beauty sleep. I’ll say two days, since Cupid 
is not fond of argument on subjects so near the heart.” 

“Good night, my darling,” said Carlton. “Pleasant 
dreams be thine till I return and hear the sweetest 
message — ‘you will be mine.’ ” 

After leaving Clara, Carlton strolled over to the 
Massasoit Club, a popular political organization, and 
drifted into conversation with a host of politicians 
stopping in town during election. The election was on 
for fair now to elect a new governor. The night was 
very warm. Clara had retired to her apartments, but 
the noise in the street below, coming up in outbursts 
of “Hurrah ! rah ! rah ! for Russell !” answered by the 
opponents’ cry, “Hurrah! hurrah for Clayton!” one 
hardly knew which candidate would come out victor. 
The counts so far came in even. 

Clara could not rest, so stepped out on the balcony. 
To her surprise, there stood Ralston Newbanks on the 
curb, taking in the maneuvers of the enthusiastic 
political crowd. Lanterns, torches, banners and 
music, all swaying and moving in dense crowds toward 
the clubhouse, followed by men, women, and, seem- 
ingly, all the children in town from crawling size up. 
Hark to the roar of voices and din of music all clashing 
together! “Hurrah! hurrah! rah!” as the flashlight 
reveals the figures on the white canvas bulletin. 

Ralston Newbanks looked at his watch. It was lo 
o’clock. Then turning his head toward the hotel, he 
lifts his hat gallantly as Clara waves her white hand, 
beckoning him from the balcony above. 

“Too much noise for you?” he remarked. 


A SOCIAL HIT 


53 


“Indeed, yes,” replied Clara. “Fresh air is prefer- 
able to hot, stuffy rooms, especially a noisy night like 
this. Who is winning?” 

“Both remain pretty even in the race,” said Ralston. 

“If you have nothing important on hand,” said 
Clara, “come up here and watch the crowd.” 

Balconies surrounded the “Urbanno” on every side, 
like a belt, the entire four floors, filled with rustic 
benches and chairs, huge palms and flowers in every 
hue; at night illumined with gay-colored lanterns, 
appearing in the distance like a great hanging garden, 
from whose walks float sweet strains of music rendered 
by “Degarra’s” band, recalling the history of Babylon’s 
king and his Median queen, who pined for her native 
hills. In the day one gained a delightful view either 
of the city itself, or the beautiful range of mountains 
stretching toward the southern slope as far as the eye 
could see. 

Ralston had been thinking of Clara while standing 
on the curbstone, though she believed him thoroughly 
engrossed watching the parade. One can imagine his 
delight on turning round and finding the object of 
his admiration not only looking directly at him, but 
beckoning him to her side. 

It was plain to be seen Carlton Barnie and he were 
rivals. But it was equally as mysterious for either to 
discern which really had the floor. On reaching the 
balcony he was cordially greeted by Clara, and made 
to feel as though he really was the chosen one. And, 
rival or no rival, this was sufficient happiness for the 
time being to banish Carlton Barnie from his mind. 


54 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


“How is it you are not at the club to-night?” said 
Clara. 

“I was in a few moments, till yours truly came over, 
then I decamped,” responded Ralston, looking Clara 
square in the face, “and consider myself fortunate in 
finding you alone, thanks to your good self.” 

“Oh, thank the election noise, weather — anything but 
me!” quickly spoke Clara. “Had it not been for so 
much noise Fm sure Fd been in dreamland.” 

“I am always grateful to any cause that brings me 
nearer to you,” said Ralston, “although of late Fve 
had to take chances seeing you.” 

“Oh, you and Carlton are like two overgrown 
schoolboys I” laughed Clara. “Why can’t you stop 
such foolishness and be good friends, like you once 
were ?” 

“We’ve become too enlightened on the subject of 
the heart for friendship,” said Ralston. “Clara,” he 
continued, “you know you cared for me before Carlton 
Barnie came to our town, with all his new Australian 
ideas and fads. I cannot but believe yet it is only a 
passing fancy that time will prove a worthless, tar- 
nished gem. And you, Clara, dear, will realize I love 
you truly for your self alone — have always loved you 
from the day I first saw you enter high school. Then 
we were truly happy ; no little green-eyed man peering 
around every corner as now. I cannot believe, Clara, 
you have forgotten those happy days — our drives by 
the lake and over the mountains. The masque balls 
and dances we used to delight in. Why, Clara, dear, 
it seems only yesterday. You have not forgotten. 


A SOCIAL HIT 


55 


Clara! Tell me you remember all, and still believe I 
love you, for I do,’’ said Ralston, pressing her hand 
to his lips. Tell me that I’m still your schoolboy 
sweetheart.” 

“No, Ral,” answered Clara, calling him by his old 
sobriquet at school, “I have not forgotten our happy 
school days you speak of. But believe me, it is best 
not to give me too much thought or even recall those 
old memories. Fate has so decreed our lives to run 
apart. I did not plan it so, Ral, ’twas Fate.” 

“You then wish to forget?” quickly spoke Ralston. 

“Not altogether,” sighed Clara. “But you see, 
Ralston, we were merely children then. Now ” 

“Yes,” quickly interrupted Ralston, “I see. It is 

different now since . Tell me, Clara, are you 

engaged to Carlton Barnie?” 

“Well — yes — or at least will be within another day,” 
replied Clara, tossing her head to one side. 

“And you do not think my plea worthy of consider- 
ation?” anxiously inquired Ralston. “Think well, 
Clara; be sure you love the man, and he returns your 
love. I have no desire to alter your decision now, if 
you consider your happiness lies with Carlton Barnie. 
I’ll surrender if that is your final choice. But some- 
how I feel he is not quite good enough for you. How- 
ever,” continued Ralston, “your decision will settle it 
for ever and aye, so I’ll say good night and good-bye.” 

“Oh, are you going?” exclaimed Clara, much 
surprised. 

“It is best,” answered Ralston. “Why should I 
remain longer drinking in the joy of your company. 


56 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


which must eventually prove only poison to me in 
bitter disappointment when another has the right of 
way ?” 

“I surely have a right to choose for myself/' retorted 
Clara, rather piqued at his leaving. 

‘‘Certainly!" answered Ralston. “Allow me to bid 
you good night and good-bye." 

He was gone ere she recovered his sudden leave- 
taking. 

Two days later the announcement of Miss Clara 
Langley's engagement to Carlton Barnie appeared in 
large heading in every paper: “Wealth and beauty to 
join hands at the altar." The wedding day was set 
for early autumn, as Carlton Barnie contemplated 
taking his bride ^to Australia on their honeymoon. 

While preparations are going on for this elaborate 
wedding we'll return to Jean Nash. 


CHAPTER VIL 


JEAN MEETS THE MYSTERIOUS LADY FROM BOSTON. 

Is all life but fiction, 

A whirligig show? 

Or is it distinction, 

A question to know? 

I ramble to solve it 
In a romantic degree — 

It’s tinker, wit and twit, 

A mixture in all we see. 

I believe it by faith; 

It’s a treacherous story, 

What some wise men saith 
May right us to glory. 

J EAN Nash was, as we have already seen, a very 
smart, industrious woman. With health and no 
encumbrance she was equal to any occasion under 
all circumstances. Knowing her talents were superior 
to her present occupation and mode of living, Jean 
longed for release from such bondage. 

Leaving her children with her father, Jean walked 
twelve miles to the nearest railroad station. There 
were plenty of vehicles and horses and help, that would 
gladly have taken her to town. But she did not wish 
to arouse the curiosity of the family as to her plans. 
She preferred walking. Her feelings, too, being deeply 
stirred on separating from her children again, she 
cried the entire twelve miles. On reaching town her 
mind was pretty well settled on the course she intended 
pursuing. Making a tour of the old town, she informed 
her old friends and acquaintances that a lecture would 
be given in Congress Hall that evening. “Everybody 


58 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


welcome!” About thirty people came out. Some 
expressed themselves as being well pleased; others 
considered it a pity Jean had been so unfortunate in 
marriage, and had to support herself and children, 
leaving her so little time to cultivate her talents. 
Others, not understanding the lecture, contended that 
she ought to stay home and raise her children, and not 
be running around the country talking about stars and 
crazy ideas, exploiting wing-e-dee’s and the like. 

It was now two years since Robert Nash saw fit 
to absent himself from his family. As Mrs. Millet 
put it, “He’s hanging off in the distance, waiting the 
return of prosperity to his wife again,” then suddenly 
appear. However, nothing had been heard of him in 
that time. Jean feared to go any distance from her 
children, fearing their father might kidnap them. 
Consulting Lawyer Noor as to the possibility of his 
having the right to do so, that gentleman laughed 
heartily. 

“Why, my dear Mrs. Nash, I assure you there is 
little need for you to worry yourself on that subject. 
Robert Nash does not want the children, or he never 
would have left them this long. He is only too glad 
to get rid of the responsibility so easily. He is not 
such a complete idiot as not to know that you have 
the right to compel him to support his family. There 
are not many women having children but would give 
him a lively chase for his money. You can do it. 
There’s a law such men must respect.” 

“I prefer making my own way in peace,” said Jean. 

“Yes, I see, Mrs. Nash, you are sensitive and prefer 


THE MYSTERIOUS LADY 


59 


the peaceable way of letting him go foot free, so long 
as he shows no signs of kidnapping the children. 
I feel sure you need have no fear of his attempting 
the like. But you ought to make him support his 
children. Did you investigate the rumor of his being 
in ^Jesup’ with another woman?” continued lawyer 
Noor. 

“No, I did not,” replied Jean, with much dignity. 
“It is all I can do at present to support myself and 
children, let alone squander money investigating every 
stray rumor I hear.” 

“Yes, that is very true,” responded Mr. Noor, feel- 
ingly. “I also heard he got in the Masonic lodge after 
leaving here. Though how he did so I’m at a loss 
to know, since our lodge here blackballed him com- 
pletely.” 

So with this assurance Mrs. Nash went her way, 
demonstrating new ideas and theorizing on up-to-date 
subjects. In fact many of her subjects proved too 
deep and advanced for all to comprehend. Some, not 
understanding such advanced ideas, could see nothing 
in Mrs. Nash short of lunacy. With such discouraging 
features to work with, Mrs. Nash decided to leave 
such unprogressive people and pursue her way among 
a more liberal populace. 

Taking her boy, a lad of six years, with her for 
company, Jean directed her course among a new 
people entirely, but found she had more than she could 
manage and attend to business. No one cared, even 
for pay, to shoulder the responsibility of looking after 
a boy with an exploring mind and a curious tongue 


6o 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


that could ply you with questions at the rate of twenty 
or so per minute. No, back to the woods Ralph would 
have to go, where the farm and surroundings appeased 
his curiosity. 

So after Jean saw it was impossible to keep the 
little fellow with her, she sent him to her father’s home, 
where the other children romped and played, unmindful 
of the struggle their brave little mother was making 
for them. After seeing little Ralph safely in the con- 
ductor’s care, Jean turned, with a heavy, though brave, 
heart toward the hall, where already the people were 
gathering to hear the youthful lecturer. Men and 
women of varied views came to hear the “new speaker” 
— some out of mere curiosity, others earnest and thirst- 
ing for knowledge. 

Jean was master of the situation, though, (Some 
declared, pretty young to handle such weighty subjects. 
As was the case in her own town, those who could not 
comprehend her meaning, stamped the little speaker 
as nothing short of crazy. But the independent, 
intelligent men and women, believing in the spiritual 
thought, could discern a strong trace of inspirational 
light about her, and upheld her work as “inspirational.” 
Some, orthodox, however, went so far as to interview 
the Bishop, who, on learning their mission, told them, 
“If they did not let spiritualism and slate-writing alone 
he would make them write ‘devils’ on their slate.” 
Others, so deeply interested, paid a phrenologist to 
call and examine Mrs. Nash’s head, to learn whether 
the bumps on her head were in the right place, or if 
they really were swimming with wiggles in a watery 


THE MYSTERIOUS LADY 


6i 


brain. When the learned phrenologist came and con- 
versed with the lady whose cranial bumps seemed to 
contain too much wisdom fluid for some, the wise 
committee engaging his services stood in waiting. He 
broke the news as gently to them as possible by saying, 
“My dear ladies, pardon my remarks, but you had 
better have your own brain examined, as the lady in 
question appears the most sane in the crowd.’' 

Thwarted by the phrenologist’s verdict, they held 
another session, concluding he was too unlettered to 
know. And the very insinuation regarding their 
own brain was sufficient proof that his brain was 
not only watered but filled with waggle- wiggles. 
After the third session they wrote to Jean’s people, 
saying she was out of her mind; they knew she was 
from the boogy-boo talk she was giving in Lingo 
Hall each night, and they, as friends, considered it a 
duty to relieve their soul of so grave a responsibility 
by informing her family. When Jean received the 
report from home her indignation knew no bounds. 
If she sat down at home depending on her poor old 
father to support herself and children “she was lazy.” 
Here she had gone away, and was trying and studying 
each night to fit herself properly to support her family 
independently, and the wail goes up, “She’s crazy.” 
So Jean, seeing it was utterly impossible to please 
everybody, she became determined to please herself, 
and let scandalmongers and mischief makers drift on 
toward “the lake that burneth with fire and brimstone,” 
for those who imagine they relieve their own soul by 
stigmatizing another. 


62 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


Jean had by this time received invitations from 
many of the independent-thinking “societies” to attend 
their meetings and join in the good work of advanc- 
ing knowledge and truth, so she decided it was better 
to cast her lot among an intelligent people, who not 
only recognized her talents as advanced thought, tend- 
ing toward progress, and was willing to help her, 
than to drag out a living death among “lunacy” 
builders. Having no money for either herself or 
children, outside of what she earned, and from the two 
years of silence, it was evident Robert Nash had no 
intention of providing for his family, Jean was all the 
more determined to show she was sane enough to make 
her way independently among strangers, who not only 
preached the “golden rule,” but lived it. She entered 
upon her task with such a light heart, carrying her 
troubles to no one save God. Jean showed plainly that 
she had been reared in a Christian family. How often 
had she heard her good old father read from the Book 
of Life, “He came to His own, and His own received 
Him not!” or in that great day He will say, “I was 
a stranger and ye took Me not in; I was naked, and 
ye clothed Me not; I was thirsty, and ye gave Me no 
drink; I was hungry, and ye gave Me no meat.” So 
Jean shook the dust from off her feet as the Saviour 
had commanded and departed, casting, like Ruth, her 
lot in a strange land. She had not mingled out among 
the different liberal-thinking “societies” long without 
gaining herself a broader view of the world and life. 
Her experience was, indeed, varied. 

Seated in her room one evening reading, a gentle 


THE MYSTERIOUS LADY 


63 


rap came to her door. Having grown somewhat accus- 
tomed to gentle “rapping” at the Spiritualist meetings, 
and this one, sounding so very faint, almost suggested 
a communication near from some invisible sphere. 
“Come in !” exclaimed Jean, as a second rap was heard, 
somewhat louder than the first. 

In walked an elderly woman, neatly clad in rich 
black silk, carrying a small chamois bag, bowing 
reverently to Jean as she entered, closing the door 
gently behind her. She was a motherly looking woman, 
past seventy, of much refinement. 

Ah ! thought Jean, some guest stopping in for a little 
chat. “Have this easy chair,” said Jean, drawing a 
great armchair near the centre table. 

“Thank you,” she replied, in a mild, sweet voice; 
then continued : “My child, I heard you speak at our 
meeting last night, though it was not the first time I 
heard your voice in famed Boston before coming here.” 

“Oh, my dear madam,” interrupted Jean, “I fear 
there is a grave mistake somewhere. I was never in 
Boston. Surely you are mistaken.” 

“Yes, dear, that may all be true,” replied the Boston 
lady. “You do not understand me yet. It was through 
the invisible near and far mystic ’phone of my spirit- 
guides that your sweet voice floated in upon my ears 
like silvery bells, awaking me to duty. Ah! your 
subject last night and your manner, my child, was 
sublime. Sublime ! I could hear o’er the mystic 
’phone — yes, almost see the spirit ascending and 
descending, as in Jacob’s ladder dream. I know you 
are the one I have been sent to. I came from Boston. 


64 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


Ah! that famed city, my dear, filled with mystic 
’phones, spirits and banners of light, to present to you 
this humble offering in honor of my darling on the 
distant side. It’s all for you, for you. He tells me so.” 
Here the Boston lady empties the bag of shining 
gold upon the table. “It’s all yours,” she continued. 
“You are young, my child. When you are old enough 
to hear the message o’er the mystic ’phone, then you’ll 
understand, dear.” 

“Oh!” exclaimed Jean, “not for anything could I 
take your money. Why, I never saw so much money 
together in my life. Are you connected with the 
“mint”? 

“Well, my dear child,” replied the lady, smiling, 
“that’s the way our guides and spirits deal it out over 
the mystic ’phone in famed Boston. Beloved Boston ! 
the city of mystic ’phones. The “guide” who directs 
my feet through narrow ways sent me here with this 
small amount. I came personally to see that you 
received it.” 

“My dear madam, I’m sure there is some mistake. 
We never met till now,” calmly spoke Jean. 

“Ah! say not the spirit’s guilty of an error,” inter- 
rupted the Boston, lady. “Our guides, my child, are 
friends, and have drawn us together, as the magnet 
draws the needle, to advance the ideals of higher and 
nobler themes. I must not miss to-night’s lecture. The 
subject is a beautiful one. I feel sure our guides will 
instruct you more clearly as to the use of this gold 
for higher investigation beyond this material sphere.” 

“I would not for the world offend you, madam,” 


THE MYSTERIOUS LADY 65 

said Jean, kindly. But I really cannot, under any 
circumstances, accept your money.’’ 

“Yes, but the spirit speaks, my child, telling me 
nightly that you are the one,” insisted the stranger. 
How, oh, how can I ever pass the 'seventh’ bar and 
enter beyond into the sphere of the blest with this mill- 
stone around my neck? No, no ! The spirit guided me 
all the way from Boston — beloved Boston ! — to find you. 
No, my guides are faithful; they never err. Think, 
child, of inspiration!” continued the stranger. “How 
very small ! how very insignificant my lowly offering ! 
— fifty thousand dollars. Ah! I cringe at so small an 
offering for investigation beyond the celestial river. 
Yes, I was in deep trouble till hearing your voice last 
evening, then instantly my guide rapped my shoulder, 
saying, 'This is she, the chosen one.’ ” 

Jean found it almost impossible to rid herself of 
this would-be benefactor. And as the hour was up, 
they walked out together and entered “Echo Hall.” 
It was already well filled with believers and non- 
believers eagerly awaiting the speaker of the evening. 
The chairman announced the subject, and Jean walked 
to the front of the platform, repeating the subject, 
“Beyond the Seventh Sphere.” 

“Is there one who comprehends the narrow voyage, 
the few short years, the opening for a higher life, where 
one perpetual day and love illumines its constancy, 
making the transparent light a spirit of truth because 
it is a jewel highly refined in its own brightness, the 
home of the soul, where the heart is an open volume on 
the table of devotion? It contains all, and is the very 


66 


THE MYSTIC HHONE 


force of life itself, if read aright and its virtues prac- 
tised. It is the highest seat of government, where all 
are interested in one grand estate. All are not ready 
to understand the meaning or receive the benefits, but 
there are a few who are searching after the real truth, 
and who know that each and every individual, to 
more or less extent, have this government according 
to their advancement into good influences that support 
the sphere to which they are attracted. The great light 
that opens up the soul to receive those high develop- 
ments is a gift from God. How shall we in this imper- 
fect life of vain glory penetrate those walls of perpetual 
shining,, full of knowledge and order? Who will 
deign to listen with an ear intent, or give up the false, 
vain, fleeting world, for a life and eternal home beyond 
in the regions of the soul’s foundation ? Here we must 
expect to make changes and meet the exterior world 
as a life of trial. Everyone is striving to do the best 
they can. The earth, a large court-house, where every 
case comes up before the chief magistrate of duty to 
give an account of his or her life. All are tried ; some 
in one way, some in another. Duty demands of each 
one their part. A busy world, indeed, full of every- 
thing sifting out its course. One class meets to talk 
business, another politics, others to make love, flatter 
and deceive, one to pull down what another builds up. 
So life goes on in the great variety, making every case 
interesting and full of study for the thinking mind. 

“What a beautiful world ! Everybody ought to be 
happy here during their short stay. Seek real happi- 
ness, the treasure, and pass it on that others may rejoice 


THE MYSTERIOUS LADY 


67 


and sing of the beautiful home of the soul. What a 
home, friends, where every thought is a flower spring- 
ing from the mind to ornament that home watered by 
the fountains of liquid light, emanating from gardens 
whose walks are paved with jewels rare from mines 
beyond the seventh sphere, whose homes and palaces 
are built with hands!’’ 

“To-morrow’s lecture will be the third and last of 
this series,” said the speaker, as she retired. 

The “spirit” took possession of the strange lady 
from “famed” Boston. She rose to speak of the 
wonderful things she saw the spirit had undertaken to 
accomplish through this youthful subject. 

“We want a ‘Lyceum.’ Yes, I see, coming over the 
mountain,” she continued, “a wonderful guide for the 
speaker.” Then sat down as suddenly as she arose. 

The society, feeling all had been accomplished in 
this town, was preparing to change quarters and begin 
“proselyting” anew, in order to spread the good tidings 
abroad. 

At the close of the meeting a tall man, advanced in 
years, arose, saying the spirit had taken him in charge 
to act as guide to the young beginner. He had heard 
the “call,” and answered by selling his farms and lands, 
thus relieving his mind of material wealth, and was 
now ready to obey the spirit and stand up in the new. 

“Well, brother,” spoke up an elderly woman in the 
rear of the hall, whose bump of business calculation 
stood out prominently, “I hope you haven’t relieved 
your pockets of all the cash receipts from that farm 
and land sale before coming here to stand up in the 


68 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


new. I have some property along the river front you 
might do well to buy. The spirit told me to sell, too, 
and follow them.” 

“Me, too !” shouted a hotel-keeper. “I’ve got the 
spirit strong to sell and stand up in the new, if I can 
find a buyer.” 

“Well, if that doesn’t beat all !” exclaimed the woman 
with the river front property, “taking a purchaser 
right out of my deal. Hey, there ! I spoke first, young 
man !” 

“See, here !” interrupted the chairman, “this is a 
meeting exclusively for ‘spirits,’ not an auction room 
for real estate bargains. Those who wish to discuss 
such material subjects must adjourn to meetings of 
that kind, or the newspaper office. Other friends im- 
bibed with the ‘spirit’ and wishing to converse longer 
with the young speaker will adjourn to the hotel.” 

To the hotel they flocked ; the gathering far too large 
for the small parlor. Then the see-saw buzz of voices 
therein was enough to startle the living, to say nothing 
of the effect produced upon the spirits supposed to 
be hovering near. 

Two sisters and one old brother, seated in the far 
end of the room, were evidently seeing “something” 
from the way they sang “Oh, bear me away on your 
snowy-white wings” in such distressing discord, the 
clerk put his head in the door as though to make sure 
none were selling liquid food without a license. After 
walking around and convincing himself that the parlor 
was still holding its own minus a “bar” he made his 
exit. The meeting continued some fifteen minutes 


THE MYSTERIOUS LADY 


69 


longer, when all arose to the tune of 'Think of the 
friends over there.” 

Franklin Cobart, the man who had sold every- 
thing to relieve his mind of all material encum- 
brance and stand up in the new, instantly arose, 
announcing that he had received a communication 
from his guide over the mystic ’phone, and the speaker 
was the young beginner entrusted to his guidance. 
Under his guiding wing they must sail through many 
"bands” and over deep waters. 

Jean had become a full-fledged member of the 
society. And one of their principal and strongest 
pledges was to go wherever the spirit called. So Jean 
and Franklin Cobart accepted the "call” to stand up in 
the new, traveling far and wide, demonstrating, even 
illustrating scenes and inhabitants of the "spirit land.” 

Franklin Cobart was a gifted artist of no small repu- 
tation in his city before deciding the old things must 
pass away, and he must stand up in the new. Believers 
of the occult paid large sums for these scenes and 
portraits of their absent friends, which they firmly 
believed gazed at them from the canvas. 

From childhood, too, Jean had shown wonderful 
talent; gifted with the "prophetic” vision attributed 
to the "mystic caul” found over her face at birth, on 
which occasion her mother lay in a "como” three days. 
Surely up to the present time her life was filled with 
circumstances so varied, through which she had to 
struggle. Love for her children, and knowing she had 
to provide for them, caused Jean, in the first place, 
to fly from surroundings that offered no opportunity 


70 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


to either make a living or rise to higher ideals. No 
wonder, harassed by gossiping tongues, any reason- 
able proposition seemed an outlet of relief. Everything 
boomed with success until Franklin Cobart’s worldly 
mind returned, and he, perhaps from remorse of con- 
science, began building castles in the air regarding 
the possibility of his “standing up in the new again,’’ 
and return to his family and friends when success had 
crowned his efforts. Never before had he mentioned 
family, friends, or lands he had sold since the “calP’ 
came to him to follow the dictates of “vapory” beings. 

The financial product of their labors had been 
increasing for some time. Jean began to take keener 
notice of the material side. She, too, had a family, 
and was ambitious to make something for them. Her 
ire was kindled. She would strike off independently, 
and work alone, thereby insure herself some footing 
should the “spirit” instruct Franklin Cobart to sell 
all and “stand up in the new again,” which he did very 
often. As Mrs. Millet often said, “A man has his 
eye on a smart, money-making woman every time, and 
vice versa.” Sometimes the seance business was pros- 
perous, then dull. Perhaps the “spirits” were on 
a strike at such times, despite the faith poor, weak 
humanity has in the oft-told story, “All is bliss beyond 
the blue.” Too, the fact is evident, lawmakers do not 
all possess the occult eye or faculty of seeing visions 
or grasping the authenticity of said apparitions 
sufficiently to incorporate and legalize the business 
in general. So, to keep things moving at an even pace 
for all, other business pursuits more generally under- 


THE MYSTERIOUS LADY 


71 


stood in common among mortals wandering up and 
down this vale of tears and smiles was found necessary 
to engage in. 

The new era of extravagance and over-production 
in manufactured goods had not dawned. People were 
living in the economical era, where often clothing of 
the adult served double time on the children, who wore 
them with a “swagger” air, as though papa owned a 
bank and all mamma had to do was run the bills. It 
was from this point of view that Franklin 
Cobart decided to establish a first-class reno- 
vating and cleaning department in the rear of 
“Seance Hall.” Already they had a man in 
view as manager without looking farther. He 
had been wandering in and out for three weeks 
in succession, asking the “spirits” to locate his voca- 
tion, which he had failed to find since “standing up 
in the new.” When the next meeting was called he 
was told the “communication” had been received, and 
his vocation was waiting for him in the rear of “Seance 
Hall” outside. 

Two weeks were spent in fitting up properly for 
business. When the opening day arrived it brought 
out a crowd of both city and country people, all having 
wardrobes at home filled with clothes needing a little 
“touching up” to make them as good as new. ’Twas 
plain to be seen an establishment of this kind was 
as necessary to rid old, musty storerooms and attics 
as the Board of Health was to rid the city of germs 
and microbes. 

The new business prospered; but, as previously 


72 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


stated, Jean was not satisfied to follow the spiritualist 
altogether in flitting from one occupation to another, 
when it only meant, as she plainly saw, the building 
up of a wasted estate for Franklin Cobart, who was 
liable, at any time, from his conversation, to receive 
a “call” to stand up in the new. 

Jean loved her children and never complained of 
any task she had to perform for them. She was 
prospering in business sufficient to keep them with her. 
Ever fired with ambition, believing firmly in the old 
adage, “Where there’s a will there’s a way,” and the 
immediate demands of children allowed no lagging 
behind or upholding “poverty pride.” Jean believed 
if one thing didn’t work, another would. So 
with this spirit she went forth, prospered and made 
friends. “Ask and ye shall receive, seek and ye shall 
find, knock and it shall be opened unto you” was as 
true to her now as when spoken two thousand years 
ago by the only perfect Man — the lowly “Nazarene.” 

When business was dull Franklin Cobart acted just 
the reverse, sitting indoors brooding over things not 
going right, and believing firmly it was all due to the 
“guides” and “spirits” getting ready to “stand him up 
in the new again.” 

Jean was out making friends and money, thereby 
standing herself up in the new continually. Her 
manner was always affable and pleasing. Everyone 
was glad to see Jean come in. She always talked 
bright, witty and pleasing subjects, thus leaving sun- 
shine everywhere she went. 

“Oh, it is easy for her to be happy !” some would ven- 


THE MYSTERIOUS LADY 


73 


ture to say. “She never had anything to trouble her. 
It’s easy for such people to be pleasant and smile.” 

The old adage friend: “Smile and the world smiles 
with you !” and Jean heard too much of other 
people’s troubles to have any herself. The scenes were 
ever before her of those who weep and weep alone, 
and Jean did not intend being in the alone-corner by 
any means after finding out the secret that happiness 
meant forgetting self and remembering others. 
Loving everything pertaining to brightness, she never 
lacked friends. 

Franklin Cobart’s ideas had become so very “freak- 
ish” regarding “standing up in the new,” Jean decided 
it was best to sever herself from the “society”- entirely. 
As usual, after paying all indebtedness, her pocketbook 
was not any too flush. But having that indomitable 
will and determination this never phased Jean. She 
was studying and working her way up the ladder 
gradually. Her aspirations were higher than always 
having to fall back on fashion-designing for a support, 
knowing if she persevered her talents would finally 
repay her efforts. Though at times she was forced 
to pursue this course to maintain herself and children, 
onward she went each day, patiently enduring, and 
trusting Him who doth renew the pilgrim’s strength. 

Stopping in a small town, her first customer was a 
beautiful girl of independent means anxious to learn 
the art of properly dressing in good style. Nothing 
she bought or had made was ever satisfactory. Her 
father died two years previous to our story, leaving 
his widow and only daughter independently wealthy. 


74 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


Their home, an old colonial mansion, was ever alive 
with gay social gatherings. For, properly speaking, 
Mrs. Dundy was the social leader of Shelbourn. She 
had studied the art of how, when and who to enter- 
tain so thoroughly her word was authority on the 
social question. It was quite evident the daughter did 
not wish to succeed the mother as social leader. 

“O Clarabell, why will you persist in spending your 
precious moments learning such drudgery ? If you had 
no means to provide those small necessary evils I 
would say nothing. Your time, dear, should be devoted 
to society and your friends. That is your first duty. 
What in the world, child, will your friends think has 
come over you?” insisted Mrs. Dundy. 

‘Tt is my money, mamma !” retorted Clarabell. 

‘Wes,” interrupted her mother, “and if you squander 
it all away, look out !” 

“O mamma, don’t worry about me !” insisted Clara- 
bell. “Go on with your ‘beans.’ I want to be a little 
useful in this world as well as ornamental. And again,” 
continued Clarabell, “you remember how shaky the 
market reports were last week regarding the Silver 
Thread Mining Company that poor papa invested in 
so heavily, and from which we expect such large 
returns. If that goes up it will be ‘look out !’ ” 

“Oh, tut, tut !” retorted her mother, impatiently. 
“Well, daughter, you are of age, therefore your own 
mistress. I’m not responsible for your actions now. 
It puzzles me greatly to know who could have intro- 
duced you to this poor, beggarly designer. I would 
not allow her in my house,” proudly declared Mrs. 


I 


THE MYSTERIOUS LADY 75 

Dundy as she sailed from the room, giving Jean a look 
of bitter contempt. 

‘'Oh, never mind mamma!” said Clarabell. “She 
has nothing but beaux and society in her head. Poor 
papa ! How he would have wailed and mourned in 
sackcloth and ashes had mamma been taken from him ! 
Poor, dear papa ! I cannot understand mamma,” con- 
tinued Clarabell, “since touring through Mexico and 
Arizona inspecting our mines. She hasn’t really been 
the same since meeting Newton Flint, the banker, and 
his party. Their acquaintance has made her ‘fusty’ 
and continually berailing me for not doing society. 
And, do you know, Mrs. Nash, I hate society. It 
seems so empty ; nothing but a bubble and show. Oh, 
if I could only be useful in this world 1” 

“You will get married, Miss Dundy, and forget 
your opinions of to-day,” said Jean. 

“Oh!” exclaimed Clarabell, “I do not say that I 
would not marry if I met a good, true man, and loved 
him, and was quite sure he loved me. Yes, I would 
want him to be a perfect idol,” laughed Clarabell, in 
response to Jean’s assertion that perhaps she was look- 
ing for perfection. 

“You have just finished school, dear child,” said 
Jean, “and have plenty of time for that subject. Let 
us take up our lesson before your mother returns from 
her drive.” 

“Yes, that is so,” responded Clarabell. “And, oh, 
do you know, Mrs. Nash, I have another dear little 
friend who wants to learn from you. But she will 
have to come over to my house and take her lessons 


76 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


with me, as her mother and sisters are worse than 
mamma about her learning anything outside of the 
society act.” 

So Jean taught her two aristocratic pupils under 
some difficulties, as it generally took about two hours 
to teach them a half hour’s lesson. Not that these girls 
were dull or slow in comprehending, far from it. But 
they had so much extra talk regarding outside matters 
and society — how Ethel and Helen Farnen had such 
beautiful shoulders and necks for decollete gowns, all 
from using ‘‘cocoa” butter; or how Narcisis Swan 
acquired such brilliant, sparkling eyes by squeezing a 
whole lemon in them a half hour before attending each 
reception. 

“Oh !” exclaimed Clarabell, “if I squeezed a lemon 
in my eyes my friends would think I had not only 
come from one funeral, but lost every friend I ever 
had. Why,” laughed Clarabell, “it would take me 
days to recover my eyesight!” 

While these conversations at times grew very amus- 
ing, they called for more time. But as the girls became 
better acquainted with Jean they grew very fond of 
her, and were willing to pay for extra time. And Jean 
found it impossible to prevent their discussing per- 
sonal defects, and the remedies for blotting out same. 

After three weeks Clarabell Dundy and her friend 
Maud Wheetly considered themselves quite inde- 
pendent on the subject of how to design their own 
gowns. By this time Jean had made enough money 
to go on with her own studies, and was giving read- 
ings and lectures in another part of the town. 


THE MYSTERIOUS LADY 


77 


Old Professor Starr, on College Heights, a recluse 
and noted bookworm, filled with scientific learning, 
surprised his friends greatly by coming out and show- 
ing an unusual interest in Jean and her work. Through 
his special interest she was invited to all the college 
lectures, even given equal showing on the “rostrum'' 
with other speakers. 

The most exclusive homes in the city were inviting 
her out as their guest. Jean had struck the high key- 
note of her talent. Once a week her lectures were 
given at “College Heights Lyceum." Among her 
callers at the hotel was one, you and I, dear readers, 
have met before — Mrs. Charles Dundy. Imagine the 
surprise on her face when entering the reception room, 
to find Jean Nash, the little “beggarly" teacher of 
designing, whom she so indifferently ignored, sur- 
rounded by some of her own most exclusive associates 
in society ! After finding an opportunity to talk alone 
with Jean, Mrs. Dundy exclaimed, not quite over her 
first surprise, “Why, Mrs. Nash, tell me how you 
came to enter a business so inferior to your talents !" 

“The lack of funds to execute my ideas and the 
immediate needs of my children," proudly spoke Jean. 

“Oh, do not tell me, a young, girlish-looking woman 
like you has a family to support!" remarked Mrs. 
Dundy. “How old are you?" 

“I am twenty-one years of age, and have four hand- 
some children," asserted Jean, quite proudly. 

“Oh, you poor little child I" exclaimed Mrs. Dundy. 
“Why, you are younger than my Clarabell! I'm so 
grieved to think I misjudged you when at my home! 


78 


THE MYSTIC ‘PHONE 


I presume you recall the occasion. I wish I could 
not.’’ 

“If I encountered any unpleasant features during 
my stay in Shelbourn, Mrs. Dundy, they have entirely 
slipped my memory. Such things are lost in the 
enormity of greater things I must remember,” replied 
Jean, with dignity. 

“Well, you know how it is,” continued Mrs. Dundy, 
not altogether comfortable over a breach of etiquette 
toward another fellow being, “we have to be so careful, 
you know, Mrs. Nash — so careful to know who is who.” 

“Yes, I understand,” replied Jean. 

“Now, dear,” continued Mrs. Dundy, “your talents 
are wonderful, wonderful ! Tell me, please, where my 
place is on the ‘mystic ladder’ of time. How far am 
I toward the final landing? And tell me when, how 
and where shall I find the ‘mystic key’ that opens 
the closed door and lifts the veil of mysteries? Oh, 
woman of mystic learning, tell me where I am! Do 
not let it be below the mystic ladder, where I see, 
continually, man in a savage state !” 

Jean saw the woman was growing too much 
interested to be satisfied with a short explanation 
regarding the thousand and one questions she asked. 

“My dear Mrs. Dundy,” replied Jean, after a 
moment’s thoughtful pause, as though reflecting just 
what she would say to satisfy the lady’s eagerness, 
“you do not understand, the mystic circle will have to 
revolve around the mystic ladder six weeks ere giving 
any correct information regarding your present or 
future state.” 


THE MYSTERIOUS LADY 


79 


“Oh, my dear! So long as that?” exclaimed Mrs. 
Dundy, impatiently. Then, taking from her pocket a 
small morocco note-book, she jotted down the date 
that she might not lose a day over the specified time. 

A surprise greeted Jean the next day while looking 
over her mail. It was in the form of a daintily written 
missive, bearing the Dundy coat of arms — an invita- 
tion to dine with her that evening; or, if Jean would 
send word when most convenient, Mrs. Dundy would 
be delighted to send her carriage. This, of course, 
Jean courteously declined. 

As previously stated, it was Jean’s intention to reach 
Nassau before Easter, and interview the Bishop on 
private business. On board the train, which was 
exceedingly crowded, Jean found a vacant seat beside 
a very refined young girl not over twenty. After travel- 
ing a short distance they entered into conversation, 
becoming much interested in each other. On learning 
Jean’s object for visiting Nassau was to interview the 
Bishop her interest increased. Being a stanch Catho- 
lic, she wished to extend some courtesy to a stranger 
visiting her city, especially one having business with 
the good Bishop. Taking a small key from her 
purse, she insisted on Jean occupying her pew in 
the cathedral on Sunday. “This is my key,” continued 
the young girl. “I cannot be there, but you go and 
feel perfectly welcome. If I do not return in time 
to see you on Monday at your hotel, send the key to 
this address,” handing Jean her card, as the train 
pulled into Nassau. They bade each other good-bye, 
hoping to meet again. 


8o 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


It was late Saturday afternoon when Jean reached 
the Bishop’s house. 

“My dear madam, it is very hard to gain an inter- 
view on Saturday unless the business is very urgent,” 
remarked the little French priest, who opened the door. 

“The business is quite urgent, I assure you, kind 
sir!” replied Jean, “more especially since my stay in 
Nassau is limited. I leave on Monday, and cannot 
say when I would have the same opportunity again.” 

Inviting her in the large reception room, the priest 
disappeared to learn if an interview with the Bishop 
was possible. Remaining so long, Jean began to 
wonder if it could be that he had gone off to “medita- 
tion,” forgetting her presence in that great reception 
room, where every sound re-echoed like in a vault. But, 
hark! through the corridor a soft rustling noise is 
heard. Nearer and nearer it comes, until, standing 
in the high arched doorway, is the form of a tall, 
stately looking man of commanding appearance, clad 
in the Bishop’s robes. Bowing gracefully as he 
advances with outstretched hand to greet Jean, he 
inquires in a most kindly manner, “My child, you 
sent for me. What can I do for you?” 

After recovering her first attack of nervousness and 
gaining confidence from the kind manner of this learned 
man, Jean proceeded to state her business. And as 
the confessional is only meant for the penitent and 
the eye of God as witness, we will leave Jean and the 
good Bishop awhile, returning to Clara Langley and 
Carlton Barnie. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


NO WEDDING BELLS. 

“ luST eighteen months since I left this little town/’ 

J mused a slim young man, stepping from a Pullman 
coach. “How much sameness exists ! Little or 
no progress. Just the same old historic town, and likely 
to remain so, unless some rousing capitalist tours 
through this section and sees where he can double a 
few idle thousand. Jupiter ! How stupid I am ! Why, 
there is really something new — a watering trough 
directly in front of the public square. Ah ! a fountain 
also, with ‘Mercury’ perched thereon. Extravagance! 
‘Surely the world do move!’ And, if my eyes do not 
deceive me, there floats a new flag from the old Town 
Hall. Really, there has been more progress in eighteen 
months than in all the twenty years I lived here. I’ll 
run over to the ‘Urbanno,’ the cuisine is par excellent. 
Seeing Billie Brownlee, the proprietor, who was very 
near-sighted, failed to recognize me owing to my 
acquisition of a Vandyke beard during my absence, 
we drifted into general conversation until the subject 
touched upon a fashionable wedding for the evening 
with a swell reception at the ‘Urbanno.’ I ventured 
finally to say, ‘I presume the “Urbanno” carries off the 
laurels for all the brilliant receptions.’ ” 

“Oh, yes, now and then we miss one !” replied Billie 
Brownlee. 

“No doubt,” continued the young man, “the Langley 


82 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


and Barnie affair eclipsed all previous receptions for 
brilliancy.” 

“What!” exclaimed old Brownlee, “you evidently 
don’t belong around here. Yes, that eclipsed every- 
thing; you are right. It’s still in eclipse, and very 
likely to remain so. No; you’re a newcomer in 
these parts, or you’d have known the story of ‘the wed- 
ding bells that did not ring.’ ” 

“What!” exclaimed the young man, sinking in a 
chair. “Do you mean to say she did not marry 
Carlton Barnie? Where is Miss Langley?” 

“I guess, young man, you have not read the papers,” 
said Billie Brownlee, or you’d be better posted on town 
topics.” 

“I confess the past ten minutes have quite convinced 
•me of that fact,” said the young man. I have been 
abroad, and even though foreign papers are plentiful, 
they do not specially chronicle every item unless the 
case be unusually sensational.” 

“Well,” laughed the proprietor, “I think this case 
will be sensational enough when called up.” 

Really this is news, thought the young man to him- 
self. I returned, in one sense of the word, too soon; 
on the other hand, just in the pink of time. 

“Do you live in these parts ?” inquired Billie Brown- 
lee. 

Seeing he was not recognized, Ralston — for he it 
was — considered it would be a good joke to conceal 
his identity a little longer. “Not for years,” said Rals- 
ton, the plural strongly emphasized on years. 

“Well,” continued Billie Brownlee, “there are some 


NO WEDDING BELLS 83 

old papers back of the desk you can look over, if you 
care to learn more about the case.” 

Ralston lost no time in seeing the papers, to find 
out all he could regarding the “Langley-Barnie” epi- 
sode. He felt he would like to inquire as to the 
whereabouts of Clara. The papers simply stated that 
she was in hiding to avoid reporters and public 
curiosity. 

It all seemed like a dream to Ralston. He had 
gone away eighteen months ago to absent himself 
during the wedding, thinking he had given Clara and 
Barnie time to be far out on the high sea, sailing 
toward Australia, or somewhere else, he did not much 
care. He returned, finding everything in confusion and 
a big sensation on board the docket. 

“Langley versus Barnie !” There was nothing satis- 
factory Ralston could gain from the papers. No one 
knew a cause. Carlton Barnie had just deliberately 
refused on a moment’s notice, when everything was in 
readiness, to link his fate with Clara Langley. The 
question on every lip was, “Why did he suddenly 
turn?” But none seemed wise enough to give the 
answer, and Carlton Barnie would not talk, so there 
the matter stood. 

Well, thought Ralston, Clara Langley turned me 
down in rather shabby style, after leading me to believe 
she loved and preferred- me to all others. But, Jupiter! 
I can’t blame her. What’s a handsome woman to do, 
with scores of eligible men admiring and paying 
homage at her shrine? I’ll just remain, since fate has 
brought me back in the midst of the fray, and show 


84 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


fair Clara how nicely I can retaliate when the oppor- 
tunity presents itself. Ah ! surely the gods are good 
and revenge is sweet. 

It was far from Clara Langley's wish to bring suit 
or enter into any notoriety by suing Carlton Barnie 
for breach of promise. Every day brought letters from 
prominent lawyers urging action, begging the privilege 
of taking up the case at once. So far none had even 
been successful in seeing Clara. She shirked from 
public notoriety. Not so with lawyers. They neither 
sleep night nor day. Their business is to look up 
trouble, and they generally find it. 

Lawyer Andee presented himself at the “Urbanno” 
very early one morning, calling for Miss Langley, 
informing her of certain remarks he had heard, and, 
tracing them up, felt quite sure he held a clue leading 
to Mr. Barnie’s strange action. 

“Oh, tell me !” cried Clara ; “do, Mr. Andee, tell me 
why that man should have treated me so cruelly and 
remain so silent ! What could he possibly know ? 
Why doesn’t he act the man and explain matters to 
relieve me of this great embarrassment?” 

“It would be wise to bring suit. Miss Langley, and 
find out,” said Lawyer Andee. 

“Yes; no doubt that is the only way,” sobbed Clara. 
“Oh, if I only had my father or a brother to defend 
my cause against this wicked man, or some one to 
advise me what to do ! How could I know, or believe 
him so true and honorable? My very soul cries out 
for revenge! But the notoriety. Oh, if I could only 
drop out of existence, or the earth would open and 


NO WEDDING BELLS 


85 


swallow me up, that no one would ever know more of 
my accursed fate! Poor mother! You thought you 
planned wisely and well for your beloved child. But 
far better for me had my lot been cast in more humble 
walks in life than the luxury that has brought only 
misery, misery !” 

As soon as it was learned that Miss Langley had 
given audience to a lawyer the reporters flocked around 
the “Urbanno” like bees to get a chance to report the 
latest news, and learn, if possible, which way the case 
really would finally terminate. Not being successful 
in gaining information regarding even which door the 
lawyer had made his entrance or exit, one reporter 
grew desperate for news, forming his own opinion 
and sending a lengthy article in, declaring it was to 
be a breach of promise. Another took up the cue, 
hurrying an article to his paper that Carlton Barnie 
had relented, and the wedding would really occur in 
due time. 

This was not so bad for evening papers. It was left 
to the “Morning Mirror” to reflect the much-coveted 
news. The “Mirror” representative, like others, called 
at the hotel for news. The lawyer had gone. Miss 
Langley could not be seen. He was there ahead of time, 
therefore could not quite understand where the 
“Express” reporter saw a breach of promise, or the 
“Evening Review” man enough to predict a wedding. 
The “Mirror” staff grew desperate after reading so 
much evening news. The “Morning Mirror” must 
have news at whatever cost. 

Looking up their young representative, Billie Dey, 


86 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


as proof against failure when it came to gathering 
news, he was instructed to read thoroughly what the 
other papers had printed, sift it out, and find out the 
truth of which was which and who was who. 

Billie could not satisfy himself that the evening 
papers were right, or that there was any possibility 
for the case terminating in that way. It seemed too 
tame for his imagination. If he could only get a 
chance to interview Miss Langley ; then he might know 
something more definite. This way of running up 
and down town, interviewing everybody but the parties 
interested did not pay. So Billie sauntered in the 
'‘Massasoit” Club, apparently interested in nobody or 
anything in particular. It was a stormy night outside. 
Billie threw himself down in a huge chair near a 
window. He overheard voices in an adjoining room. 
Two members were interested in a game of cards. 
After getting comfortably fixed for a little nap and 
about to forget the old world, with its ups and downs, 
his keen ears caught the sound of Carlton Barnie’s 
voice in close conversation with his partner in the 
small room. 

“There’s a mystery about her name,” said Carlton 
Barnie. “It’s not Langley.” 

“She’s a charming girl,” replied his companion. 
“I shouldn’t thought you’d gave her up for that.” 

“Well, that’s my business !” said Carlton Barnie, 
changing the subject. 

That was all that was necessary for Billie Dey's 
imaginative brain and occult eyes. He could fathom 
two-line mysteries into columns. Next morning the 


NO WEDDING BELLS 


87 


“Mirror” contained two entire columns on the front 
page, headed, “Barnie Finds a Skeleton in the Langley 
Closet.” 

Clara, overcome by these sensational reports, ban- 
ished herself to avoid meeting anyone. 

Carlton Barnie had money! This the lawyers on 
both sides knew, and they meant to see that the case 
terminated into something profitable for them as well 
as Miss Langley. And, properly speaking, it was the 
lawyers who roused her indignation to act. Their 
argument was, “There was no reason why Carlton 
Barnie should not heal Miss Langley's wounded heart 
with a little seventy-five thousand dollar healing balm. 
Barnie thought nothing of that. He was willing to 
give her one hundred thousand if she would drop the 
case without further comment. This seemed only to 
fire Clara more for action. 

“Why should I accept his money and go through 
life stigmatized by his silence? No! thrice no! He 
will tell my counsel his reason privately, or publicly 
in open court. If, as he affirms, they are such strong 
reasons, the world might as well know the truth first 
as last,” declared Clara. “This suspense is maddening. 
Yesterday I was a child, calm as a lamb; to-day I’m 
a woman thirsting for revenge. No ; I’ll not withdraw' 
this case and remain smirched as though I was an 
outcast. My name shall ring from continent to conti- 
nent, if need be, till the world shall proclaim it too free 
and pure to link with such an unprincipled character 
as Carlton Barnie. Oh, that I could have been more 
wise in reading character! I was so blind to even 


88 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


presume that this man possessed a soul of honor. Ah ! 
poor Ralston!” sighed Clara, “I did not know his 
worth, and treated him so badly! How true his 
prediction ! How he warned me against this man ! 
And I thought it only jealousy. O Ralston, I did not 
know your worth till now, till now !” cried Clara, as 
she bowed her head on the little table near her chair, 
sighing so deeply, the old colored mammy, a slave in 
Lawyer Andee’s family, roused herself and exclaimed : 

“O Honey, yo’s nebber git cured o’ dem sighin’ 
spells if yo’ don’t stop sighin’ ! Mars Andee done 
told me yo’ sigh all de time. And de doctor hab done 
send yo’ up har for to forgit dem causes what done 
make yo’ sigh. So, honey, yo’ must eat, an’ ax fur 
things yo’ don’ see round. I’s don’ want Mars Andee 
cornin’ up har an’ catch yo’ still sighin’. He’ll fo’ sure 
say old Milinda aint takin’ good care ob yo’. Oh, my !” 
sighed Aunt Milinda, as she started out the door, then 
turned back suddenly, exclaiming, ‘‘O Lordie! there, 
I don’ believe dem sighin’ spells am catchin’ !” 

“Oh, no, it isn’t catching. Aunt Milinda !” said Clara. 
“You are doing fine, and just taking splendid care of 
me. I feel so much better than when I first came. 
I’m afraid you are treating me so fine I will want to 
remain longer.” 

“Bless yo’ soul, honey!” replied Aunt Milinda, “I’s 
just lub to wait on yo’ till I’s die!” 


CHAPTER IX. 

WHAT THE BISHOP TOLD JEAN. 

Alas! all things faded seem, 

When hope is lost in life. 

Time is but one constant stream, 

A medley full of strife. 

Hope on in sweet simplicity; 

Hope maketh life sublime. 

Checks the heart through modesty. 

In every perfect mind. 

What a blight to the human race. 

If void of virtue fine; 

The golden rule, in every place, 

Develops the perfect mind. 

W HEN Jean had told her story the good Bishop 
remained very silent and thoughtful for fully 
ten minutes. Every moment seemed an age to 
Jean. Finally, in his soft, mellow voice, full of sadness, 
he began giving her advice in words never to be forgot- 
ten while life lasts. 

“Though the past, my child, can never be recalled, 
do not let it be the means of dragging you deeper in 
the mire, but rather as a warning signal to lift you 
to higher and nobler ways. Remember, my child, 
while it is true you have erred, this day you have come 
back and stand a penitent before the throne of a just 
and merciful God, asking forgiveness. It is for us, 
my child, to firmly resolve and make every effort to 
live in the world for some good, and by our own 
example of right bear our torch of Christian faith aloft 
for others’ good. Sometimes the storm prevails, our 


90 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


arm grows weak, and the light we owe to our fellow 
man becomes faint, because we need the strengthening 
power of God’s Holy Spirit Jn our daily life. He is 
the true Friend and Good Shepherd, seeking the lost 
and wayward sheep, the Friend found near when 
all others seem so far ; the real Samaritan, 
who lifts us, with all our infirmities, out of 
the mire, and with His tender love heals our 
leprous condition of mind and body. In giv- 
ing you absolution, my child, I would beg of you 
one thing, be faithful. You have been weak and erred 
through an over-good heart. Study moderation ; 
consider your companions, whether worthy or other- 
wise. Be more reticent. Cast not your pearls before 
swine. And last, but not least, my child, cling to your 
faith. It is the safe anchor for all struggling in this 
world of temptation and sin. Without faith we are 
like a log tossed at sea by every wave. Turn your 
back on the past, my child, and face Calvary. On that 
mountain you will find the key to hope, courage and 
future happiness for yourself and children. Put a 
high value on your immortal soul; make every effort 
and sacrifice rather than sell yourself for a small 
pottage, which cannot mean anything but shame and 
degradation. Pray to God for grace and strength. 
He is merciful, and will show mercy to the weak who 
seek His aid. Though storms rage and the enemy 
encompass thee, God will hearken and lift up the trust- 
ing heart. As your faith, so shall your strength be. 
My child, I give you absolution. Go, and sin no more. 
And may the God, whose province is in the realm 


WHAT THE BISHOP TOLD JEAN 91 


of silence, bless and keep you from all harm! God 
bless you! Go in peace!’' 

Long after the good Bishop retired Jean knelt in 
the little chapel, praying and meditating upon the beSt 
course to pursue in keeping with the Bishop’s advice. 

Here, in this little chapel, apart from all else and 
the world, kept sacred to God, one cannot remain long 
without feeling the awe-inspiring holiness of these 
surroundings. In no other place is this solemn quiet 
and sacredness apart from everything worldly felt. 
No loud, boisterous talking. Each member feels the 
hushed repose and appreciates the sacred re- 
sponse on entering their church, no matter how 
small. Silence is the countersign understood by each 
one while in this house of worship, dedicated to God 
and His glory. The smallest child is taught to know 
and respect this holy silence. There are halls erected 
for entertainments and lectures, but the church — ah ! 
that is the sacred sanctuary, dedicated exclusively to 
God, the high and lofty One. Here one hies himself 
away from the busy cares of life and talks with God, 
the thoughts not distracted by the outer world; here 
where the light never goes out, but burns night and 
day before the sanctuary, where angels chant their 
vesper hymns of holiness unto God; where the soul 
forgets the mortal in the surrounding of the immortal. 

Jean finally aroused herself and returned to the hotel. 
Next morning she arose early and attended services 
in the cathedral. 

One can imagine the surprise on the congregation’s 
face, seeing Jean Nash, an utter stranger, unlock and 


92 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


occupy the pew of Banker John Rush. Helen Rush 
did not return in time to see Jean again, so she 
returned the key to the address given, and sped on 
her way, rejoicing, toward Atlanta and Savannah. 

With five little mouths to feed and ten feet to shod, 
Jean had to keep an eye on the finance and hustle 
to keep figures down. It was fortunate that Jean could 
adapt herself to surroundings and ruling circum- 
stances. In this way she seldom found an idle moment. 
She made friends, and they always knew of something 
good to throw in her way, because they admired her 
dash and persistency. 

Franklin Cobart had by this time learned Jean’s 
value in business, and did not mean to so easily give 
up the “golden fish.” After carefully searching every- 
where, he followed her to Savannah. And Jean, with 
the good Bishop’s advice still fresh in her memory, 
“To do for herself and children,” found herself placed 
in a quandary. She had to fight a fierce battle with 
herself right here. Franklin Cobart, pleading and 
declaring he never would stand up in the new again 
without her, she hardly knew whether this was a 
threat, or, merely knowing she was young, he took this 
way to scare her. 

What must I do? cried Jean within herself. To 
make a scene among newly made friends will never 
do! Oh, what shall I do? 

Jean had passed through much trouble, but it had 
not as yet hardened her heart. If anything, her sym- 
pathies enlarged. So, yielding, she returned to 
continue business with Franklin Cobart. 


WHAT THE BISHOP TOLD JEAN 93 


Stopping at her old home once more, Jean was 
distressed to find her old father in such poor circum- 
stances, owing to ill health. Having no available cash 
herself to help her people, Jean prevailed on Franklin 
Cobart to remain long enough to teach her father his 
business, and get things started. In this way he would 
then be able to help himself a little. 

Jean and Franklin Cobart then proceeded west- 
•ward, taking with them Jean’s young sister Millie, 
thus making one less for Clay Richmond to provide 
for. 


CHAPTER X. 

JOE Richmond’s escape from the hospital. 

J ean’s brother had come to her in great distress and 
bad health, suffering from chills and fever. While 
lying in the hospital, seeing, each day, scores 
of sufferers carried out victims to this dread malady 
he, too, was fighting. One by one the cots 
were vacated. Day after day Joe tried to keep up 
his courage where, seemingly, no possible hope existed. 
His strength was waning. He began mentally con- 
structing plans to escape, ere collapsing entirely. He 
had been so very patient, apparently satisfied that all 
was being done for him. The nurse and doctors felt 
perfectly safe in leaving him alone at intervals, feeling 
conscious his strength was fast leaving, and it being 
only a matter of time with him, as with other unfor- 
tunates suffering from the same scourge. Joe felt so 
himself; but, in his weakened state, what could he do? 
He tries to rise, but his arm trembles and gives way. 
He falls back on his pillow more exhausted than ever, 
crying, “O merciful God! What will I do — lay here 
and die like a dog? Help me, O Heavenly Father! 
Help me, O God, to rise out of this bed ! Let me once 
more hear my father’s voice and clasp his hand ! Thou 
blessed me, O Heavenly Father, with good, Christian 
parents! But, like the prodigal son and wayward 
sheep, I wandered from the fold, and now am lost on 
the mountain, far from home, tangled in the bush of 


JOE RICHMOND'S ESCAPE 


95 


utter despair, unable to rise, handcuffed by this 
accursed fever. Give me strength !” cries Joe. “Help 
me, O merciful God! Help me to rise and see my 

father’s face. Help me now! help me ” And his 

feeble voice dies away, as he sinks, exhausted, into a 
sound sleep. 

Two days later, about 4 a. m., down through the 
narrow aisle of cots, inch by inch, a man crawls on 
hands and knees, resting here and there beneath a 
vacant cot to avoid detection. At last the large glass 
doors, leading to the gravel roof and fire-escape, are 
reached. Unfastening the rope, he lets himself down, 
down, little by little. 

“Ah !” he sighs at last, as the ground is reached. 
On hands and knees he crawls on, on, over the lawn. 
’Tis but a step or so to the high wall ; but, to one weak 
and exhausted, how far it seems! With only a strong 
determination to buoy him on, it seems miles. At 
last the wall is reached. The struggle has been too 
much for a sick man, and he sinks exhausted for a 
moment, then rouses himself, as the thought again 
springs in his active brain of the outside, the street, 
meaning freedom. 

“It must be reached !” cries Joe, “ere I’m discovered 
and carried back in that ward to die. But what is 
this? Another obstacle to surmount! My God! I 
never thought — the gate is locked. The wall so high ! 
How will I ever reach the top? O merciful God! 
This far, and lost! lost! lost! — No, no! I have it!” 
Hastily taking off his shirt and starting a tear with 
his teeth, he makes a rope. Throwing it “lasso” style 


96 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


around one of the wall pillows projecting here and 
there above the wall proper, now he begins the hardest 
task of all — that of pulling, with the little strength 
left, his own weight to the top. “God help me! 
Here I go !” Up, up — a pause, then on and on. Ah ! 
the top! The very sight of the glimmering lights 
outside renews his strength for a moment, and he 
drops to the ground below. He crawls some distance ; 
falls ; then tries to rise ; but his strength gives out, and 
he becomes unconscious in a hedge along the road- 
side. How long he remained in this state he did not 
know. All he did know was, when he awoke he found 
himself lying in a neat little room, being cared for 
by an old friend — Farmer Brownson — and his good 
wife. 

Howard Brownson had started out on his usual 
route to market, when, in the high grass, he discovered 
a man moaning, apparently struggling for breath. 
Alighting from his wagon, his astonishment was too 
great for utterance, as he bent over the prostrate 
form and discovered the man to be none other than 
Joe Richmond — the only boy, he often avowed, he’d 
ever had on his farm worth having. Tenderly lifting 
him up and placing him in the wagon, Howard Brown- 
son turned his horse’s head and drove home, instead of 
continuing his route to market. When Joe came to 
his senses tears filled the old man’s eyes as he listened 
to the boy relate his experience. 

“I had to get out, Mr. Brownson, or die like the 
rest. And I am sure I would have died had you not 
found me just when you did.” 


JOE RICHMOND’S ESCAPE 


97 


“Well, boy, yer know this is yer home as long as 
it pleases yer to stay,” replied Howard Brownson. 
“Yer did not have to leave when yer did.” 

So Joe remained with the Brownsons three months, 
declaring often that he never could repay their kind- 
ness to him. 

He wrote his sister regarding his experience, ill 
health and escape from the hospital, and the way the 
Brownsons had found and befriended him. 

Poor Joe ! This was indeed news. Completely over- 
come, she wired Joe, “Come to me at once! I’ll help 
you the best I can !” 

So Joe left on a visit, as the Brownsons put it. 

“You mind, now, Joe, and come back when ever * 
yer visit’s out. You’ll always find the latch on the 
outside of the door for yer at my house. All yer have 
to do, Joe, is to lift it and walk in,” said Brownson. 

“I am sure I’ll never be able to half repay you and 
Mrs. Brownson for your great kindness to me,” replied 
Joe, greatly moved, as he bid the old people good- 
bye and started on his westward journey. 

While the train was yet in the station Joe looked 
out of the window. There stood old Howard Brown- 
son and his wife, and their eyes filled with tears as, 
between tears and smiles, they waved to Joe, saying: 

“We’ll be looking for you any time. Good-bye! 
Good-bye!” And, with a last wave of the hand, the 
train moved on and out of sight. 

It was a cold, blustering day when Joe reached his 
sister’s home in Montana, after four days’ travel. The 
cold, bracing air seemed to revive him. And as Jean 


98 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


greeted him at the depot, he declared he felt like a 
new man. 

Through Jean’s untiring energy and good care Joe 
built up readily, entering in business and prospering. 
But while Joe made money, he was not the man to 
save, as long as he knew the old folk at home needed 
anything. Old Brownson and his good wife must be 
remembered at Christmas, if everything else stopped, 
although Joe told his sister that he could never repay 
them if he sent them the United States Treasury. 

Joe remained west two years, but the old feeling 
and longing for home was too strong. He surprised 
the old folk by returning on New Year’s Day, with 
enough cash to buy them a little home. 


CHAPTER XL 


JEAN STANDS UP IN THE NEW. 

J EAN was practically the head of the business. But 
the spirit of unrest was evident, more especially 
after Joe left, taking with him his little sister 
Millie. She was exerting all her energies to keep the 
business booming, with the constant dread that some 
morning she would wake up and find Franklin Cobart 
had received a communication during the night to 
stand up in the new, and in his haste might 
mistake the money drawer for his trunk, and 
forget to return. Jean began to think more 
seriously than ever now of the good Bishop’s advice. 
Why hadn’t she followed his worthy advice? was a 
question ever before her. Too much good heart, was 
all the answer Jean could evolve. All the trouble she 
had ever had came from that good heart. 

Yes, thought Jean, poor mother declared years ago 
that it would be my ruination. The good Bishop said 
the same. So I’ve just got to change. If it’s my heart 
eternally jumping out of the ''pericardium,” there’s 
got to be some radical pruning down, and a horse^ 
sense wall built around it up to my eyes, and topped 
off with spikes, if need be. Therefore, just watch me. 
Jean Nash, from now henceforth and forever take 
notice ! O heart, you are condemned to serve here- 
after in your own boundary only, since you dp not 
possess judgment enough to beat off trespassers. 


LOFC. 


100 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


You will please attend to your own business at the 
pump, and not meddle with mine. 

“Well,” sighed Jean, “if that isn’t notice enough to 
settle my ‘good heart,’ I’ll have to consult the Sultan 
of Turkey to advise me farther.” 

Jean determined it was her turn. to stand up in 
the new. And, with the rules and regulations now per- 
manently fixed between herself and her heart, there 
was nothing to prevent her sailing through life with 
flying colors. She did not' wish to arouse Franklin 
Cobart’s suspicion as to her intentions. She left the 
business, money drawer and everything just as it 
was, taking nothing, save the little money she had by 
her for immediate expenses. It was very late when 
she reached “Chesterville.” Not having much money, 
and children to provide for, the situation grew per- 
plexing. 

Jean rarely in anything considered the conse- 
quences until afterward. Her impulsive nature, as 
well as her “good heart,” was forever dropping her 
into wrecked schemes and difficulties, from which she 
found it hard ofttimes to extricate herself. But Jean 
was born for luck. She always found someone ready 
to give her a lift. She was in a great dilemma. She 
could get along nicely herself, but what to do with 
her little ones was a question. She was very much 
tried at heart regarding the subject, when she acci- 
dentally met a motherly old woman, who stopped to 
admire the little golden-haired boy. 

On learning Jean was a stranger and the difficulty 
she was having, leaving her children in boarding- 


JEAN STANDS UP IN THE NEW loi 


houses, she advised Jean to go straight and put those 
little children in a home, until she was better prepared 
to care for them. The horror of such a thought 
struck Jean, as she replied: 

'‘Oh, how can I do such a thing! I’m willing to 
work and pay for their board.” 

“My dear child,” interrupted the stranger, “you are 
very young yourself. What can you do for them, 
or yourself, in such an unsettled condition? You 
can pay their board in the home, and feel assured 
they are being cared for, and not allowed to run the 
streets helter-skelter while you are at business. You 
cannot drag them around and properly care for them.” 

After careful consideration, Jean saw that was the 
only thing she could do under the present circum- 
stance. So, feeling none too light at heart, Jean 
started for the orphans’ home. It was already late in 
the afternoon, and Jean found, after walking some 
distance, that it was further out than she expected. 
Finally her heart heaved a sigh of relief as the great 
wall of red brick loomed up in sight. 

“Well, my poor little darlings wdll be able to rest, 
anyway, after this long tramp.” 

Passing through the high arched gate, bearing the 
inscription overhead, Jean rang the bell. The door 
was opened by a kindly faced matron, who, on learning 
Jean’s mission, shook her head in the negative, saying : 

“My dear, this is the foundlings’ home. You want 
the orphans’ home for the little girl, and the boys’ 
home for the little fellow — both separate institutions 
across town.” 


102 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


Jean, being tired already from the long walk, and 
so overcome by this disappointment, felt as though 
every nerve in her body was running at large. The 
thought of dragging the children back seemed almost 
impossible. 

“How could their little feet stand it?’' sighed Jean, 
never considering whether her own strength was ade- 
quate. 

Mother love! And the father — where was he? Be 
patient, gentle reader ; we may meet him in our travels 
ere the story is told. 

With a heavy heart Jean turned to retrace her steps 
over the same route toward the other institutions. 
It was very late when she reached the orphans’ home. 
The matron, responding to her ring, heard her story, 
then, shaking her head, doubtfully, remarked in 
broken English : 

“Me very sorry for madam I Ze Superior not home. 
Me not can take ze petite fille when ze Superior be 
away to ze foundlin’ home.” 

“Oh, it’s impossible,” exclaimed Jean, “for me to 
have these little ones trudge over that ground again! 
When will the Superior return?” 

“Oh! Oui, ze Superior come at 8 o’clock back, 
madam!” replied the little French matron. 

Scarcely had she finished the sentence, when the 
Superior, a short, stout and crusty-looking individual, 
appeared. Listening with an impatient air, she 
required more red tape from a poor woman regarding 
herself and children than would take to elect a presi- 
dent. 


JEAN STANDS UP IN THE NEW 103 


Finally, she reluctantly consented to accept the 
little girl, being an act of charity toward the little 
child for the time being. “But you,” she continued, 
sternly looking at Jean, “must provide for her as soon 
as possible,” as she was not an orphan, and this home 
was, properly speaking, for orphans only, as the name 
implies. 

Jean, her heart too full for utterance, thanked the 
Superior, and bade little Edna good night. But as 
she passed out of the great iron door into the night 
the sound of the door, as it closed with a heavy click, 
smote on Jean’s heart in a manner never to be forgot- 
ten while life lasts. 

It was too late to go over to the boys’ home. And 
Jean felt she must keep one of her little ones with 
her for the night, or die with a broken heart. She 
just could not part with all in a single day. She and 
little Armond retired early and soon fell into a sound 
sleep. Next morning Jean took little Armond to the 
home. 

With her children provided for, temporarily, Jean 
turned her back on everything but business, facing 
the future with a strong heart and brave effort to 
smile, even though the clouds did sometimes appear 
and obscure the sunshine. 

By industry and thrift Jean soon placed herself 
where she resumed her studies. She cared for little 
else outside of books. It was her “hobby,” if she had 
one at all. 

The entire morning she spent out teaching. The 
remainder of the day was her own for study. The 


104 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


class Jean did business with differed materially from 
those she lived among. Up with the lark, singing some 
catchy tune, no one suspected she had aught to think 
of but self. 

Her youthful appearance and always bright coun- 
tenance stealing in on you like a ray of sunshine made 
many friends for Jean. In conversation, however 
short, her listeners were sure to hear something worth 
remembering. But, beneath it all, down past the 
sfniles and words of cheer to others, in the inner room 
of the heart, where the sound of the nearest friend’s 
voice is never allowed to enter, Jean was struggling 
under trying circumstances, which seemed to control 
her life. Sometimes the shadows darkened into almost 
night. Appearances and rent had to be kept up; the 
little ones had to have first one thing then another, 
more or less, all the time. And Jean, mother-like, 
gave them first preference always. 

Not a few times Jean found herself walking along 
the beautiful lake Sunday mornings, purse empty and 
but one meal a day. But think you, fair reader, this 
frail bunch of human energies allowed these hard- 
ships to harden her heart or make her melancholy? 
Far from it! Seated on a rustic bench, near where 
the sparkling waters splash at will, you will find Jean 
writing or sketching. Drawing a little nearer and — 
pardon curiosity, which leads us to peer over her 
shoulder unobserved — in a large, bold handwriting 
we discern — what ? A complaint ? Ah, no 1 but a song 
of praise and appreciation of the Maker that springs 
from a mind and heart that has tasted the real essence 


JEAN STANDS UP IN THE NEW 105 


of spiritual food. We will not be presuming too much 
in using the Saviour’s words, when He said : “I have 
meat to eat that ye know not of.” All calm and 
serene as a summer breeze, recuperated by beautiful 
thoughts, Jean would return, sometimes finding things 
in harmony, sometimes otherwise. Away to her little 
room she would go, with a song in her heart and 
bright, happy thoughts in her mind. 

The week previous to St. Patrick’s Day was a busy 
one for Jean. Her spirits seemed even brighter than 
usual, although she worked more earnestly that week 
than for some time. And the reason for all this extra 
exertion was, she had invited a few friends to accom- 
pany her to a St. Patrick’s supper, given by the ladies 
of St. Bridget’s church. And as Jean had found many 
warm friends and good customers as well in that 
parish, she intended giving a surprise and making 
it a bright spot in the lives of three widows, who had 
befriended her when a stranger in their gates. 

Little by little the bank account intended for this 
special occasion grew in Jean’s trunk. Each day a 
little more was added, and Jean was happy, because 
her thoughts were centred on giving others pleasure. 

At last the long-looked-for seventeenth arrived. A 
heavy snow had fallen. Jean was returning home, 
and stopped at the little corner store to purchase four 
green badges for her three friends and self. What 
was St. Patrick’s supper going to look like minus 
green decoration ? Flat and stale, to be sure ! And 
one of the party, Mrs. Michel O’Flin, the life of the 
crowd, and the only real thoroughbred direct from. 


io6 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


the Emerald Isle, must have a badge twice the 
usual size. So onward Jean tripped, happy as a lark. 
It was almost time for her three friends to call for 
her, so she did not intend wasting much time fixing 
and primping, and not be on time to greet her guests. 

“Oh, my keys! Not in my purse, on the bureau, 
bed or table! Oh, where could I have laid them!” 
exclaimed Jean, turning round like a top. “Where 

can ” Ding-ding. “Oh, the bell, and Fm not half 

ready. Mrs. Brown, O’Flin and Dority ! Where could 
those keys be? Fve looked everywhere. I’ll just slip 
out and see if I dropped them coming in the door.” 

Out of the door Jean walked, and up the street, 
looking carefully, first on one side, then the other. 
The snow so white and clear, anything could be plainly 
seen. Past the corner, where a lamp-post threw out 
its feeble rays, Jean looked carefully. Going a few 
steps farther, she gave it up. ’Twas no use; she 
would return to her room and break the lock on the 
trunk rather than disappoint her friends. Again 
reaching the lamp-post, there, to Jean’s utter aston- 
ishment, where she had looked just a moment ago, 
lay the bunch of keys in the very centre of the walk, 
where hundreds passed and repassed at that hour, 
returning home at close of day. Jean picked the keys 
up and hurried home, all out of breath, finding her 
three, friends in waiting. Jean did not tarry long, and 
they all appeared at the supper in good time, all radiant 
and happy. 

“Ah ! it’s happy I am to see you, Mrs. O’Flin,” said 
Father O’Dooley, approaching the trio. “Ye are not 


JEAN STANDS UP IN THE NEW 107 


ashamed to wear the colors, and enough of them, of the 
patron saint of Ireland, L see.” 

“I am not, then!” quickly replied Mrs. O’Flin. “I 
see ye have the brogue yerself, but nary the sign of 
a badge. It’s ashamed ye ought to be. Father 
O’Dooley, in this crowd without a badge.” 

'‘I am, then,” replied Father O’Dooley. “But my 
business calls for neither scrip nor purse.” 

“Well,” exclaimed Mrs. O’Flin, “me wits should 
have saved ye the mortification of acknowledging the 
fact. Here’s half of me badge to ye. Father O’Dooley,” 
continued the lady, as she was in the act of pinning 
the green on his coat. Father O’Grady stepped up, 
remarking : 

“Ah ! it’s here ye are. Father O’Dooley, flirting with 
St. Patrick’s daughters! Back to the Friars’ cell and 
pray for repentance! Ashamed ye ought to be, pro- 
fessing celibacy, with love in your heart!” 

“Never ashamed am I,” replied Father O’Dooley, 
“of such fine daughters of the Emerald Isle as these.” 

“They gave ye a badge, and disgrace will be theirs 
if I’m not treated the same,” said Father O’Grady. 
Whereupon each divided their colors with Father 
O’Grady, who, in turn, escorted the three lassies to 
supper. And a merry crowd it was while the banquet 
lasted. 

Jean was very ambitious, knowing her talents called 
for a larger range to develop in. She was indeed a 
believer in versatility, attending all denominations in 
order to learn their views and broaden her own. Prot- 
estant, Catholic, Jewish and Spiritualist — in fact. 


io8 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


every place where knowledge was expounded on 
various subjects — Jean could be found. 

At the Spiritualist meetings advanced thinkers and 
men of great learning wrestled with the material and 
the spiritual theory. The Methodist talked ^‘Wes- 
ley the Presbyterian, ‘'Calvinism the Universalist, 
God and man in one — no creed, no hell ; Catholics, the 
Gospel of Jesus Christ crucified; the Jews, the old 
Mosaic law and the coming of the Emanuel, each 
theory containing food for a speculative mind such 
as Jean’s. 

She had to exert every effort to support herself and 
children. Never hearing from Robert Nash, she 
supposed him dead, not allowing herself for a moment 
to think he could be living and act so heartless toward 
his children. 

Every spare moment Jean devoted to study. Where 
others sought social gaieties, spending hours on dress 
and personal adornment, Jean sought knowledge. 
Thus, when accidentally thrown in social circles, she 
was the brilliant star, outshining diamonds and gaudy 
apparel, because she cultivated the garden of her 
mind, filling it with carefully selected seeds of learn- 
ing, which continually blossomed forth into new ideas 
and thought, long remembered after fashion, fads and 
fancies had grown to weeds. Jean had come up so 
far under trying circumstances ; she had studied hard 
to bring out her talents, that she might enjoy larger 
returns for her labor, as her children, now growing 
up, would need so much. 


JEAN STANDS UP IN THE NEW, 109 

'‘If I only had a million to give each one!’’ sighed 
Jean. 

What manner of heart can some men have, never 
to care for their own children, though they care noth- 
ing for the wife and mother ? Differences arise between 
men and women in the marital state, causing 
a coolness to spring up, which drifts into indifference, 
and very often separation. The love that surmounted 
all difficulties is absent. One can partially under- 
stand and make allowances here accordingly, as the 
subject is too varied to be argued from one stand- 
point alone. But what difference could possibly cause 
a man to forget the purest love, that of his own inno- 
cent little children? There is an absence of pure and 
holy love in his heart. 

It would seem rational to believe children born to 
parents who are continually wrangling, quarreling and 
despising the very presence of the other, could 
not claim the same affectionate influence as a child 
born under opposite circumstances, where the father 
and mother love and are truly devoted to each other 
and their home. The former simply two blighted, mis- 
matched lives on passion’s fickle sea, and the offspring 
often left to sink or swim to shore as best they can. 

All who knew Jean admired the plucky little woman, 
and never failed to patronize her undertakings, 
although they were never sure what her next adven- 
ture would be. But it mattered not. She was indus- 
trious, and trying to care for herself and children 
single-handed, and they considered such efforts worthy 
of support. She had finished a course in music. 


no 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


law and medicine, but had not decided which particu- 
lar one she would follow permanently. 

Old Johnson Merry weather’s widow had the name 
of being too stingy to live. Suffering so badly with 
rheumatism, she was obliged to walk with two canes. 
She had watched Jean with keen interest since the 
first day she entered the house as a boarder. She 
finally summoned up courage, and invited Jean down 
in her rooms, something unusual, and which started 
all the boarders’ tongues a-wagging. 

“Well, Mrs. Merryweather, how are you?” inquired 
Jean, walking in one evening. 

“I’m not bragging to-day, Mrs. Nash. My old 
‘rumatis’ has the best of me again,” replied the old 
lady, shaking her head. 

“Oh, you are too young, Mrs. Merryweather, to be 
nursing rheumatism ! Let me look at your feet,” said 
Jean. “It may be the gout. Ah, I see! You need 
an operation!” 

“An operation !” gasped Mrs. Merryweather. “Oh, 
I’ll surely die!” 

“Oh, no !” replied Jean, who noticed the old woman’s 
toe nails had grown so long they turned and lapped 
into the flesh, and was growing there. “I’ll fix your 
rheumatism in a ‘jiffy/ ” 

After cutting off the overlapping surplus, old Mrs. 
Merryweather gained such relief she jumped almost 
out of the chair, exclaiming: 

‘'I heard you could do things ; but it beats all where 
that ‘rumatis’ has gone. The crutch and cane factory 
will have to go out of business if you stay here.” 


JEAN STANDS UP IN THE NEW in 


It soon spread over the town how Mrs. Merry- 
weather had been cured. 

Jean was doing nicely now in law. She preferred 
that profession. What to do with her children was 
the next most important subject to consider. Seated 
in her office one afternoon the door opened and a 
man of medium height stepped in. He was well 
dressed, of commanding appearance. 

“I wish to consult Lawyer Nash. Is she in?” he 
inquired, rather nervously. 

“I am Lawyer Nash,” replied Jean. “What can I 
do for you, sir?” 

“My name is Rand — Winston Rand,” quickly spoke 
the stranger. “I came in response to your advertise- 
ment, and wish to enter partnership business with you.” 

“My advertisement !” interrupted Jean, in utter 
astonishment. 

“Yes; I see you do not understand,” replied the 
man. “But you are anxious to do better than you are 
doing in business. And as I received the communi- 
cation over the 'mystic ’phone,’ I answered it in 
person, knowing we can make banks of money. You 
are one of the lecturers at our hall, and I want you 
to go in business with me. I’m a magnetic healer, 
and since you’ve gone through college we can make 
money — stacks of money.” 

“Why, sir,” answered Jean, “you are a stranger to 
me !” 

“Yes,” interrupted the man, “and you are a stranger 
to me. But I know we can make money — barrels of 
money. And money is the vital topic — it talks. It’s 


II2 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


a language understood by every nation, whether of 
gold or silver standard.” 

“I’m doing very well now as I am,” replied Jean. 

“Yes; but don’t yoirwant to do better?” interrupted 
the stranger, his eyes fairly snapping with business 
possibilities. “I’ll leave you to think it over by this 
evening. I’ll call at 7 o’clock for your answer.” And 
out he darted as suddenly as he appeared. 

Well, another Spiritualist the spirit has moved, 
thought Jean. I wonder when my experience will 
ever end with them. Since joining the “Near and 
Far Society” it has been one continual routine of 
surprises. But if the spirit says go, I’ll have to go, 
being a good standing member. I’ll just run over and 
talk with Father Mockinbird and hear what he advises. 

Poor Jean! Always anxious for someone to advise 
her, but she seldom heeded their advice. First Meth- 
odist, then Catholic, Baptist, and from the general 
outlook at present, liable to jump over the fence into 
Spiritualism. 

“Oh, dear!” cried Jean. “If I could only settle 
down on one of the many theories expounded nowa- 
days. This might be the chance- of my life to make 
money. But my children ! Still, what did their father. 
Bob Nash, care? They might have starved in the 
gutter. What need I care?” Then rousing herself, 
instantly exclaimed, “Ah ! God forgive the thought ! I 
did not mean it ! The little darlings ! They shall not 
starve either in the gutter, street or house, while I 
have strength to work for them. I’ll go up and see 
the good Bishop again.” 


JEAN STANDS UP IN THE NEW 113 


On her return, she found the magnetic healer wait- 
ing, and as both talked business to the point within 
two hours everything was settled. Winston Rand 
jumped up suddenly, this being his style. 

“Now, ril go over and get the tickets, and have an 
express here for your trunk in one hour; so be 
ready.” 

Imagine someone sending an express without having 
to order one yourself, thought Jean. Within half 
the time it takes to tell the magnetic healer rushed 
back to Mrs. Nash, accompanied by a little girl, dirty, 
ragged, hair all frowsy and uncombed. 

“O madam, see the trouble I have ! I hardly know 
how to tell you. I gave my wife, with her separation 
papers, money to go to Europe, and here she has just 
returned to-day with nothing, and thrown the little 
girl back on me in this style. Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! 
What shall I do?” cried the man, in utter despair. 
“Saturday night, and nothing for the child to wear. 
I do not know where to leave her; our tickets are 
purchased ; I cannot leave her just anywhere. Oh, 
what shall I do?” continued Rand, walking up and 
down the floor, the little girl hanging on his coat, as 
though afraid to release her hold. 

“She is your child. Take her with you,” quickly 
interrupted Jean. “We have no time to lose ; the trunks 
have gone. Here, throw this small cape around her.” 

In less than fifteen minutes all three were aboard 
the train, just reaching the station in time. 

On arriving at their destination, Jean took the little 
girl in her room, bathed and spent the better part 


114 


THE MYSTIC 'PHONE 


of the night getting her mass of black curls out of 
the tangle and free from vermin. 

It was the over-anxiety to make money for her 
own little children that caused Jean to have this extra 
trouble. What will the child wear? was her query. 

Looking at the poor little forlorn being, she could 
not squelch her ‘‘good heart” here. She, too, had 
children. And though the “wall” was built around 
her heart as high as the heavens, it would even then 
not be high enough to keep her heart from respond- 
ing to a little child.* Looking over her own trunk and 
belongings, finally a beam of satisfaction played over 
her countenance as she picked out a little summer 
silk. 

“Yes; this will answer the purpose. I can very 
conveniently discard it for this unfortunate little 
child.” 

All night Jean sat up, making a little dress, that this 
little child, a comparative stranger to her, might, too, 
go out on Sunday, and not remain imprisoned for 
want of a dress. 

As usual “good-hearted” Jean, at the sight of this 
little child, her heart leaped out of the pericardium 
and bounded clear over the ironclad horse-sense “wall” 
she mentally constructed. She never questioned the 
labor. It was sufficient to feel another was being 
benefited. 

Imagine the surprise on Winston Rand’s face as he 
entered the dining room next morning for breakfast 
to see Jean and his little girl — not the ragged, forlorn 
little creature of a few hours back, but a pretty child, 


JEAN STANDS UP IN THE NEW 115 


dressed as stylish and becoming as though she 
possessed an elaborate wardrobe. 

“Ah, madam ! How very kind of you ! I can never 
express my gratitude,” said Winston Rand. “You 
have not slept any, I am quite sure, doing for my child. 
How can I ever repay you?” 

“The child needed attention,” was all that Jean 
replied. 

Luck followed from the start. The hotel parlors 
were crowded every day with an eager, anxious 
throng. 

Jean noticed every new town they entered Winston 
Rand had some excuse regarding the baggage, and 
she was invariably called upon to register. 

The next time Jean hung back, giving Winston 
Rand a chance to register. But not much ! He played 
the baggage excuse so fine Jean was again invited 
to register before going to her apartments. 

“Why is it,” she began, as Winston Rand entered 
the reception room, after being absent an hour, “that 
you do not go to the office first and register when we 
enter a new hotel? You are surely not afraid someone 
will imitate your writing and forge your name!” 

“Oh, no; not at all!” laughed Rand. “I could just 
as well. But I would rather you do that, while I look 
after our baggage.” 

“Very well, since I understand,” said Jean. 

“Millionaire” Slocum, as Josh Slocum was called 
by everyone who knew him, and even those who had 
only heard of him, for his peculiarities made him 
known to all, attended the entire course of lectures 


ii6 


THE MYSTIC ^PHONE 


given in Arcadia Hall. Of the five, the following 
one opened the door of his heart and purse to welcome 
the lecturers in his private home, where he invited 
a number of his friends to hear his favorite lecture 
repeated : “Aspirations from the home of the soul.’' 

“With all the faults that flesh is heir to, man is a 
noble being, worthy of every blessing which he endeav- 
ors by higher aspirations to receive. It is that aspira- 
tion from the divine that the mind feels so much in 
these uncultivated plains, making an effort to describe 
according to their knowledge as they have advanced. 

“ ‘What is man that Thou art mindful of him ?’ Man 
is a part of God, emanating from Him, which makes 
Him interesting to know and study all through the 
different stages in this promiscuous life. By search- 
ing out every definite and indefinite course to 
make the heart worthy of the soul’s home 
in eternity. Are there many in this age of 
refinement and civilization that realize the full 
value of the soul’s principles? With the greatest 
tenacity they cling to old superstitions and follies. 

“The tree is known by its fruits. When we think 
over nature’s laws, how many beautiful blessings there 
are to enjoy! Is it not time to study these profound 
truths? What are the reasoning faculties for, if not 
to improve by self-culture, to make each a worker in 
the great vineyard of eternity? All must prepare 
their mental, moral and physical conditions while on 
this sphere of action. They cannot unless strength 
and power is revealed understandingly to the soul. 
Hearts that are cold, standing aloof, indifferent as 


JEAN STANDS UP IN THE NEW 117 


to their own welfare, thinking every fellow-being 
stands in their way of progress and prosperity. By 
this supposition they fail to take courage and pursue 
nature’s law and science independently, fail to compre- 
hend and establish the true theory, because they know 
not how to appreciate the tides of unbounded space. 
Life currents are our guide ; the understanding is the 
helm ; the Godhead is the life-saving boat, bringing 
souls safe to shore. 

“Hither and thither through the broad expanse each 
soul a star, gathering weak shells from the great ocean 
of life, taking one out of many from the different 
walks, placing them in a world somewhere to become 
stars of light, to advance truth and knowledge of this 
most valuable home. 

“A little flower somewhere extends its roots all 
around to be nourished by another, to give elasticity, 
strength and vigor. The virtue of manhood gathers 
out of the number those to strengthen them that are 
moved with energy, enterprise and learning. The 
sun must perform his duty in turn, as man performs 
his work. The office of the sun is as dependent as 
man. All are attractive powers void of self-existence. 
The sun could not shine without his fuel, therefore 
the sun is a dependent body, fed by the planets. Even 
th'Is little earth of ours, all its waste element, or what 
we would call its wasted material, is doing its perfect 
work. Gases being constantly thrown out of this 
system, furnishes, with the waste from all the different 
planets, that which sustains the sun. Do I expect a 
home in the sun ? Indeed not ! Do I expect a 


ii8 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


home after this life in the planets? As ridiculous as 
the first assertion. Neither is my home in the Milky 
Way, because my soul is not complete. After I reach 
the golden gate of order, the saints unloose every 
fetter. I am then nearer my home in the soul. The 
saints are fulfilling their orders, therefore not in their 
permanent place of resting. Knitting and netting they 
are weaving the lot in spheres that are living, forget- 
ting and forgot. 

“Rouse from the sleeping night and look to the land 
where everything is bright. Make the acquaintance 
of the little star Constancy. It will unfold to you 
problem after problem that will bring to you satis- 
faction and comfort to know that your abode is in the 
beautiful land of the soul.” 

Old Josh Slocum went home, scratching his head 
and thinking deeper than he ever thought before. 

“Old woman !” he exclaimed, as he entered his 
home, and Mrs. Slocum knew there was something 
unusual on his mind, as this was his manner of speak- 
ing when puzzled, “I have been a standing member 
of the big church most all my life; I have heard men 
of learning — in the church and out — on various 
subjects, but I have heard more this morning out 
of the mouth of a woman concerning that place you 
go after you are dead than all the science and theories 
put together. They are doing big things down in the 
‘Arcadia’ Hall. I am going to have them come up 
and straighten the nerve centres of my family. Your 
nerves are all twisted. Katie’s need a hauling over. 


JEAN STANDS UP IN THE NEW 119 


And there are times I feel as though my liver or some* 
thing had flew clear through the top of my head.” 

So old Josh Slocum engaged the two healers at a 
thousand dollars per month, to start the nerves right 
again in his family. 

Josh Slocum was as generous as he was rich. Old- 
fashioned in his manner and dress, style never both- 
ered him. He left that for the women folk, often 
remarking, “No wonder their nerves were unstrung, 
with all the furbelows they had to wear and keep 
track of.” 

He could be seen most any day starting out with a 
wagon loaded with provisions, coal and clothing for 
the poor. Anybody needy received them. No ques- 
tions asked. 

Josh Slocum never waited for Thanksgiving, Christ- 
mas, or New Year’s — any time was good enough for 
him to relieve a neighbor, and seemingly everybody 
was his neighbor. Still this man of generous heart and 
purse was in danger of his life each time he stepped 
from his own door. Being a divorced man, he had 
married a divorced woman, about which we will hear 
more later. 


CHAPTER XIL 


MRS. SLOCUM AS A MATCH-MAKER. 

Time is but a hurried master, 

Fleeting breath in old decay. 

Not all hearts are sticking plasters; 

Each love must select its way. 

Now you mingle in the lobby, 

But with time you cannot stay. 

Love is everybody’s hobby; 

Every love will find its way. 

W INSTON Rand saw he could not devote proper 
time and care on his little girl while traveling, 
so he placed her in a convent under the care of the 
good Sisters of Mercy. 

Jean and he, both now unhampered, traveled exten- 
sively, making money. Prosperity favored them on 
every turn. Winston Rand was a natural born 
financier. Twenty-five or fifty dollars in his hand 
soon doubled itself through his shrewd manipulation. 
If he bought a horse to-day for seventy-five dollars, 
he found a buyer next day willing to pay one hundred 
and fifty dollars for the same horse. Everything 
doubled in value under his management. 

Josh Slocum’s second wife had a host of poor 
relations, who followed in her trail. Among them a 
widowed sister, having one child. She was very poor, 
both in purse and health, so made her home with 
the Slocums. Though poor, Katheryn Dangraw was 
handsome, stylish and a good entertainer, which 
pleased Mrs. Slocum very much. She depended 


MRS. SLOCUM, MATCH-MAKER 121 


entirely on Kitty doing the honors of the house 
socially. For she (Mrs. Slocum) had eloped from 
school when a mere slip of a girl in her first matri- 
monial venture, not only cheating herself out of an 
education, but compelled to live poor until getting a 
divorce and marrying Millionaire Josh Slocum. On 
the other hand, Kitty had finished school and married 
a society man, whose sole ambition and happiness was 
to keep his wife in the gay whirl of society. This lasted 
only a few short years, when suddenly the crash 
came, as in a night, of the wrecked iron-clad bank, 
sweeping fortunes away like chaff. 

Kent Dangraw could not survive the shock, and 
within a fortnight died a raving maniac. So it need 
not be wondered at, when going to the Slocum man- 
sion, you first encountered the clever young widow. 
Winston Rand was a very handsome man, of fine 
address. Mrs. Slocum, though not a good entertainer, 
proved apt in weaving plans. She liked Winston 
Rand from the first time she met him; and while not 
being over-anxious to give up her sister, was, at 
the same time, on the alert for any sign of a good 
match loitering around. After carefully study- 
ing Winston Rand at a distance, she discovered his 
excellent financial qualities, therefore, conceived an 
idea that it would be a fine thing for he and “Kitty” 
to make a match. Wise young woman that she was, 
she set to work planning the match. 

Winston Rand loved money more than anything 
else. He had battled for it on some pretty rough 
fields, and knew its value. 


122 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


'‘Your dollar’s your friend,” was one of his favorite 
expressions, when overhearing a discussion on friend- 
ship. We need not wonder, then, on finding him often 
spending double time at Slocum Heights. 

A thousand dollars per month was an important 
item. And Mrs. Slocum and Kitty looked upon 
these prolonged visits as deep infatuation for the 
attractive Kitty, who sang and played to him such 
sweet love “ditties.” 

“And Kitty, dear, he sighs continually, too deeply 
moved for speech,” said Mrs. Slocum. “You have 
started right, dear.” 

“I believe I have,” sighed ’ Kitty. I have moved 
his heart to feel the real pathos of my voice as it 
floats out in strains of sweet melody.” 

I am not sad, love, dear, 

When thou art near, 

When — thou — art — near. 

As the last note died away, Winston Rand snapped 
his fingers nervously, as he rose to speak, causing 
Kitty to turn suddenly around, facing him, and remark- 
ing: 

“I am afraid you are not fond of sentimental music, 
Mr. Rand. What is your favorite style of music?” 

“Oh, really, Mrs. Dangraw, I am charmed with 
your music and beautiful voice, my only regret being 
— ah! hem! I always have to — ah! remember the 
busy side of life, and break away from — ah ! ahem ! 
your charming presence. Having an important 
engagement now, I most truly regret having to leave 


MRS, SLOCUM, MATCH-MAKER 123 


you so soon, thanking you for the past moments of 
pleasure, and trust I may be privileged to enjoy 
another musical evening ere long. Oh, yes ! Ah, hem ! 
Will be delighted to dine,” continued Winston Rand, 
as he bade the widow good afternoon. 

“Will you call to-morrow ? No ! Well, good-bye !” 
sweetly replied the widow, as he descended the long 
white marble steps. 

At first both Jean and Winston Rand were invited 
guests at Slocum Heights. Quite frequently old Josh 
Slocum invited all his friends to hear Mrs. Nash talk 
on “Aspirations from the Home of the Soul.” Then 
Mrs. Dangraw, who flattered herself as being the 
brilliant social light at Slocum Heights, did not relish 
becoming a lesser light every time Jean appeared. 

The little “green-eyed” monster could see nothing 
but Winston Rand seated in an easy chair, gazing 
intently at Jean during her discourse ; not as a 
polite listener, but with a more languid, admiring gaze, 
that, to a keen widow’s observation, speaks volumes. 
A more admiring gaze, thought Kitty, than 1 ever 
discerned on his countenance while singing my best. 
I will tell Nell of my discovery as soon as the guests 
leave.” 

So that evening Kitty and Mrs. Slocum compared 
notes. 

“Kitty, dear,” said Mrs. Slocum, “Winston is all 
right. He loves you, I know. He may feel shy, dear, 
owing to our great wealth.” 

“Wealth, nothing!” interrupted Kitty. “Nell, if 
you ever expect me to captivate that man, for my 


124 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


sake don’t be continually asking his business partner 
here every time we have company. She talks too 
much. Nobody can get a word in edgeway for her.” 

“Why, Kitty!” exclaimed Mrs. Slocum, “everybody 
enjoys hearing Mrs. Nash talk. She is so brilliant 
in company, sister dear! And I am sure you were 
completely wrapped up in her yourself.” 

“Yes; but we can’t kill two birds with one stone 
in this case. If you expect Winston Rand to like me, 
don’t be asking them both here together,” remarked 
Kitty, knowingly. 

“Oh, tut, tut, Kitty, dear! Don’t you get jealous. 
You will win Winston Rand yet, without any such 
precautions,” laughed Mrs. Slocum, as she tripped 
lightly out of the room. 

Winston Rand was now a frequent guest at Slocum 
Heights. Jean was invited, too, in a manner, but 
politely declined, owing to business. Perhaps, too, 
her keen, intuitive eyes had peered into the little 
widow’s heart, and learned some few points worth 
remembering for future use. 

Winston Rand was perfectly satisfied as long as 
Jean accompanied him to Slocum Heights, but when 
she declined the invitations, Winston seemed very 
much averse to going himself, and would constantly 
remind Jean that he preferred remaining with her. 
Whereupon Jean would insist that it was business 
and his duty to go. 

Kitty was always happy when Winston called, be 
it morning, afternoon or evening. It had been 
rumored around that Mrs. Slocum, in order to win 


MRS. SLOCUM, MATCH-MAKER 125 


the millionaire from his first legal wife, consulted every 
medium and fortune-teller in the craft. It mattered 
not how far distant they were. When all local signs 
had apparently failed and she was doomed to live 
out life as a poor man’s wife, since all the charms had 
failed to sever the tie quietly, and Josh Slocum’s 
ungainly-looking wife seemed determined on outliv- 
ing everybody, though for what no one with half sight 
could tell, as it was plain to be seen Josh Slocum was 
good and tired of her long ago. 

When all seemed lost, in some way or other Nell 
Boggs got news of a wonderfully gifted “seer” on the 
Pacific Coast — the seventh son, born with the veil, 
and had studied Egyptian mysteries so deep that every 
breath he drew was a secret wafting charm about his 
sacred den, which consisted of a cave far in the moun- 
tain retreat, away from the sound of the living world. 

Here he brewed magic teas and mystic powders that 
defied failure in any pet hobby or scheme. To send 
was out of the question. One must visit the magic 
mystic cave, and meet the claimant of deep, unfathom- 
able mysteries face to face, and become acclimated 
and completely enveloped in the mystic atmosphere 
of two thousand years ago to properly embrace the 
truths and become possessor of the valuable magic 
mystic ideas and mixtures necessary to execute 
hobbies ere they grow stale and unprofitable. 

Josh Slocum listened intently while Mrs. Boggs 
recited the wonderful news. He was willing to furnish 
the money for all expenses if the scheme would only 
work. 


126 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


But another thing about this mystic fellow 

“Prophet, Josh,” corrected Mrs. Boggs. 

“Well, mystic prophet!” repeated Josh Slocum, “or 
whatever he might be; he uses the word embrace 
pretty often. I do hate you going alone,” sheepishly 
continued Josh. 

“Now, just hear the foolish man talk!” interrupted 
Mrs. Boggs, hastily. “Are you going to let every good 
chance slip by. Josh Slocum? We’re engaged! Ain’t 
I wearing the engagement ring you gave me? And 
have you not called me your mystic soul?” 

“You stop talking that way, Nell Boggs!” quickly 
interrupted Josh Slocum, “or you will have me a 
bigamist before I know. Here, take this roll of money, 
and be off as soon as you can to see that Pacific mystic, 
and mind you hurry back. Don’t linger so long in the 
mystic atmospheric embraces of two thousand years 
back, that you will become so acclimated you will not 
be able to live in this climate again. You ought to be 
back in two weeks. Mystic, magic embraces!” mut- 
tered Josh Slocum, as he rose to leave, “that sounds 
like dangerous walking.” 

“And getting rid of one half of oneself sounds 
dangerous, too,” responded Mrs. Boggs. “We are both 
out on the same ticket, if we ever get these snarly, 
knotty matrimonial ropes untied.” 

“Ha! ha!” laughed Slocum, “that’s it. They beat 
the sailor knots. Now, if Josh Slocum and Nell Boggs’ 
knot ever gets tied half so well I will not complain !” 
chuckled the old fellow, giving Mrs. Boggs a sly 
glance. 


MRS. SLOCUM, MATCH-MAKER 127 


''Now, never mind that, Slocum,” replied Mrs. 
Boggs. "When I return we will have a regular untie- 
ing and tieing up.” 

"Well,” simpered Josh, "you be sure you sit up and 
notice things, and get all the mystic magic (minus 
embraces) coming to us, so as to prevent another 
tangled knot.” 

Across the continent hastened Mrs. Boggs, leaving 
her family and friends under the impression that she 
had been called west to visit a sick relative. 

Three weeks elapsed, and Mrs. Boggs returned. 
Everybody commented on how serious and silent she 
seemed. Her family argued this was a becoming 
mood, just leaving a sick relative, and it aroused no 
further comment. Finally the opportunity came for 
her to see Josh Slocum. He called to collect his rent. 

"Well, how did you make out?” he inquired. 

Carefully taking from her pocket a tiny Egyptian 
decorated box, containing powder enough to fill a 
thimble. "See, Josh! I paid dear for this box,” said 
Mrs. Boggs. "But he said it will do the business, if 
used rightly. It cost one thousand dollars.” 

'What !” exclaimed Josh Slocum, losing his balance 
anc falling ofif the chair. "One — thousand — dollars 
— for that stuif ! Great Scott I Woman, you will ruin 
me!” 

'Yes, indeed!” replied Mrs. Boggs, as calm as 
though she had paid only ten cents. "Mystic magic 
comes high, and 

'Well, I’m blamed if you have to buy much of that,” 


128 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


interrupted Josh Slocum, ‘‘it will end in “Elastic 
tragic !” 

“You don’t seem to understand, dear; it is full of 
magic,” replied Mrs. Boggs. 

“Well, it ought to be full of something at that price,” 
replied Josh. “Durn my hide if women and magic 
mystic don’t come higher than gunpowder. Why, I 
could buy enough powder to blow up a town for five 
dollars !” 

“O Josh, dear, consider my feelings, and have some 
sense,” said Mrs. Boggs. 

“Sense!” exclaimed Josh. “Yes, that is right. 
If I don’t watch my cents I will not have many 
dollars.” 

“O Josh ! and I thought you loved me I” cried Mrs. 
Boggs. 

“I ain’t denied a-loving you,” said Josh, looking 
cautiously around. “But to my reckoning, there, is 
not enough powder in that box to settle one, let alone 
two knots.” , 

“Yes, but Josh, dear, it is full of magic,” declared 
Mrs. Boggs. “I saw him fill the box with my own 
two eyes.” 

“What! Can you see it? What does it look like?” 
interrupted Josh, becoming much interested. 

“Why, dear, it is invisible to the naked eye, /"ou 
know 

“No ; I don’t know anything about it, only I am 
two or three thousand dollars out. That is the nBst 
invisible part noticeable to me. How in creation, Kell 
Boggs, could you see a thing with your two ejes 


MRS. SLOCUM, MATCH-MAKER 129 


if it was invisible?” inquired Josh Slocum, much 
puzzled. 

“Oh, dear !” replied Mrs. Boggs, “I had the spell on 
my eyes, and could see more mystic magic going in 
that powder than I ever dreamed of seeing.” 

“I see !” remarked Josh Slocum. “He didn’t pull the 
wool, but the spell over your eyes. Well, it will have 
to perform some wonders around here to convince me 
of its face value. Magic mystic!” repeated Josh. 
“One thousand dollars a thimbleful I I would like to 
take out a few shares in that company. What kind 
of a looking fellow did you say he was?” 

“Oh!” interrupted Mrs. Boggs, “just like all 
prophets — mystic looking. Now, this powder! Let 
me see ! Oh, dear, I have to read the directions 
every time ! I ought to know it by heart. Now, listen. 
Josh, what has to be done to insure success.” 

“I am all attention,” declared Josh Slocum. “If 
there is any value in that powder I want to see it.” 

“Well, listen, then,” repeated Mrs. Boggs, “and I 
will read the directions : ’Take the powder, divide into 
equal parts, mix one cat’s tail, three dog ears and one 
rabbit’s paw ; wrap it in a neat little package, 
tie together with hair from the head of the 
one you intend trying the charm on; put inside 
lining of coat near the heart ; drop ten drops 
of mystic magic tea in the ear of the same party three 
nights in succession while sleeping. After the third 
night everything is easy sailing. The right couples 
procure license and get the knot tied by a dominie with 
two blue eyes, one Roman nose and a cupid-bowed 


130 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


mouth. These are the mystic features indispensable 
to securely retie divorced knots of this character. Then 
proceed to walk cautiously out sideways, looking back- 
ward into the past to avoid future mistakes, using 
great care not to stumble over door mats or rugs, which 
cannot mean anything short of mortification and 
discord 

“Here! Stop right there! One thousand dollars and 
all that program \” interrupted Josh Slocum. “Why, it 
is worse than going to Mardi Gras and finding every 
room taken. Well, as for the hair,” he continued, “I 
can find hair enough in the bureau drawer to tie up 
a trunk, if need be. But what does puzzle me is the 
three drops in the ear.” 

^Oh, you cannot use false hair!” exclaimed Mrs. 
Boggs ; “it has got to be the real natural hair off the 
head of the enemy, or spoil the charm. Oh, dear, you 
will make a failure yet !” 

“Well,” said Josh Slocum, emphatically, “I will see 
to it that the one thousand dollars’ worth of mystic 
magic ain’t lost, if I have to cut the whole head off. 
That is where a man is always in a quandary when it 
comes to working magic mystic tricks. Women can 
coddle around a man and get all the hair off his head 
to tie parcels or anything else, and pour a whole bottle 
of soft soap in his ear to gain a point, and he is just 
fool enough to believe it is all gospel truth, and that 
he is the real ‘peri-endocardium’* all combined. Now, 
if I go a-fooling around that woman of mine, cropping 
locks of hair off her head and pouring mystic magic 
drops in her ear, she is just as likely as not to jump 


MRS. SLOCUM, MATCH-MAKER 131 


three feet, strike the ceiling and say I have not only 
been drinking and trying to pull her hair out by the 
roots, but administering dope drops in her ear.” 

“Now, Josh Slocum, you are the scariest man I 
most ever saw!” exclaimed Mrs. Boggs. “After all 
my traveling and your talk of loving me, your mystic 
soul, I declair it is just like a man.” 

“Oh, no, no!” interrupted Josh Slocum. “I am 
going to get that hair otf her head and them drops in 
her ear if it takes me ten hours.” 

From all accounts the charm was, from Mrs. Boggs’ 
standpoint, a complete success since she and Slocum 
were last seen planning an extensive tour, apparently 
in high glee. 

“Mrs. Slocum No. i was well pleased to rid herself 
of a man, who not only talked in his sleep about women 
and wing-e-dee mystics, but who actually tried to ruin 
her hearing by dropping ground glass or the like in 
her ears. So the judge decided her plea of uncomforta- 
bility was sufficient grounds for any woman to have 
a divorce on. 

Mrs. Boggs also found a plea for her knot to be 
untied, although poor old Joe Boggs, an unlettered 
man, will never quite understand how it all came about ; 
how his wife could get a divorce so easily, right under 
his nose and marry Landlord Slocum. 

“I will move right out of his house. He will never 
git another cent from me,” declared Joe Boggs. 

But to a millionaire, what was that? A small item 
to borrow trouble on. 

Can it be wondered at, then, Kitty Dangraw having 


132 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


explicit confidence in her sister’s aptness to work 
schemes. She and Mrs. Slocum decided it was neces- 
sary for their health to take a little vacation. They 
hurried across the continent, making a four weeks’ 
stay. 

While Mrs. Slocum had ideas in her head for Kitty, 
she also had a few on her own account. She had cap- 
tured the Millionaire Slocum. Her next wish was for 
an heir, and just the kind she wanted. She would 
consult the wise Pacific Coast “seer” on the matter. 
She knew he could waft his mystic eyes about, causing 
her child to be just what she most desired — a Lord 
Byron, not a Tennyson, Longfellow, or Shakespeare 
— ah, no ! None of these for her ! Nothing but a 
Lord Byron could fill her heart with joy, or prove a 
suitable heir for Slocum Heights. 

On their return Mrs. Slocum gave a reception in 
honor of Josh Slocum’s birthday. Winston Rand was 
among the invited guests. 

Josh Slocum contended that Mrs. Nash ought, by 
all means, to be invited. But the women folks’ 
opinion, as usual, prevailed, and she was not there. 

Mrs. Dangraw greeted Winston Rand as he entered 
the drawing room. Truly she had never looked more 
charming than now, he thought — all radiant and smil- 
ing. A perfect picture, in the most exquisite Paris 
gown he was quite sure he had ever seen. At the 
close of the first dance he led her to a seat in the large 
bay window, opening out on a small balcony, and 
almost entirely hid from view by huge palms on either 
side. 


MRS. SLOCUM, MATCH-MAKER 133 


“You look very pale, Mr. Rand. I trust you are 
not ill?” anxiously inquired Mrs. Dangraw. “Is there 
too much draught from the window?” 

“I am very well, thank you, my dear Mrs. Dangraw. 
The drawing-room was a little warm, hence my desire 
to come here,” answered Winston Rand. “We had a 
busy day. No doubt that accounts for my non-bright 
appearance. I am delighted to find you looking so 
well and charming after your western trip.” 

Of course this was a case of one thousand dollars; 
something must be said. 

“I am afraid you are working too hard in your busi- 
ness,” continued Mrs. Dangraw, laying her hand on 
Winston’s forehead. “Really, Mr. Rand,” she exclaimed, 
“your head is very warm. I will bathe it with ammonia 
mystic water. It is very cooling and refreshing. You 
will have to acquire the habit of using it to relieve 
your headaches.” 

“I am afraid,” interrupted Winston, “you ar^ start- 
ing the habit on me. I am very apt to imagine the 
bay window and a charming widow most essential 
to effect a cure.” 

“Ah, Mr. Rand, you wish to flatter me!” simpered 
the widow, as she poured another overdose of ammonia 
mystic on his head, which ran down his face, literally 
deluging his collar and shirt bosom. Still the widow, 
so preoccupied with the compliment, kept on pouring 
the mystic ammonia and rubbing his head, unmindful 
of the damages. And Winston Rand, unwilling, per- 
haps, to cause the widow any embarrassment, said 


134 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


nothing, nor offered any resistance, while she bathed 
his brow, until, like a tired child, he fell asleep. 

“At last I” sighed Kitty Dangraw. “Now, for a lock 
of his hair, and ten drops in his ear! Nell says it 
has to be repeated three different nights in succession. 
But when will I ever get another chance like this? I 
can’t see that it ought to make any great difference, 
so I will just drop thirty drops in his ear now. I 
hope he won’t wake up. Oh, dear! I have so much 
to do. I am afraid I will forget half. I wonder if 
I will get through tying up that powder and sew it up 
in the coat lining. Oh, my ! This is truly nerve-wreck- 
ing. How I dislike having to hurry through things ! 
I do wish Nell was here ! She is so self-confident ! I 
feel so shaky — just like a thief,” continued the widow, 
as she started to fish for the inside coat seam near 
the heart. Oh, my! I would die outright if he ever 
opened his eyes !” 

After a moment, which seemed an hour, the little 
seam was ripped, the parcel inserted, and the seam 
again sewed. 

“Dear, dear !” sighed the widow again and again. “I 
feel just like nervous prostration. I wonder if Nell was 
affected likewise. Never again will I risk doing charm 
acts alone. Why, that was worse than actually court- 
ing a man, and summing up courage and proposing. 
I wonder how much longer he’s going to sleep. I 
do wish he’d wake up. I’m sure I remembered right 
what the Western 'seer’ prescribed as a good magic 
dope. Let me think! It was fifteen drops of chloral 
to every two drops of ammonia mystic — or was it two 


MRS. SLOCUM, MATCH-MAKER 135 


drops of chloral to fifteen of 1 wonder if I have 

Oh, Fm so nervous! Will the man never wake? Fll 
go for Nell; no, Fm actually afraid to move. If he 
should Oh, I dare not think I What shall I do ? Per- 

haps I had better take that package out of his coat; 
but the thirty drops 1 Oh, why was I ever tempted to 
go West? Will he never wake up? Goodness! Fll 
go to pieces if this keeps on. Oh, why did I put that 

package in his ear? Oh, I mean !” And as the 

widow was trying to straighten out the tangle, Win- 
ston Rand awoke so suddenly that it nearly frightened 
the widow to death. “Oh, how you frightened me, 
M'r. Rand!’' “Ah! my dear Mrs. Dangraw,” ex- 
claimed Winston, “tell me, is it late? I really forgot 
myself and fell asleep. Believe me, it was not the 
company. Do pardon my rudeness, Mrs. Dangraw. 
Really, it is quite impossible for me to understand 
how I came to commit such a breach of etiquette. 
Never recollect doing so before. How long have I 
been here?” continued Winston, looking at his watch. 
“Oh, my dear Mrs. Dangraw, 2.30 a.m. ! How can I 
ever apologize for such an awkward blunder? Why 
didn’t you wake me up and send me home?” 

“My dear Winston,! knew you were tired and needed 
rest. You are working too strenuous in business,” 
said Mrs. Dangraw, forgetting all about the fright he 
gave her a few moments ago. “Give up your business 
for a while and take a little vacation. Come up here 
and visit us, leaving all business downtown.” 

“Give up business!” exclaimed Winston Rand, now 
thoroughly awake. “Why, my dear lady, I would be 


136 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


giving up all. Business is the very life of me. What 
would we do without business? Business is money, 
And money! Ah, the demon — the god! — the vital 
issue of to-day — the tree whose branches extend to 
heaven, and whose roots touch the very depths of 
hell !” 

“Yes! that is too true,” remarked Mrs. Dangraw, 
thoughtfully. “But you must have some diversion 
from business. The mind needs recreation and 
change, as well as the body. You cannot be blind to 
the fact, Winston, that we all are very fond of you 
here. Come up and visit at Slocum Heights, for a 
rest up,” coyly continued the widow. “Yes, we are 
all very fond of you. We could drive, dine, have a 
few extra receptions; in fact, all would endeavor to 
make your visit one of pleasure. I know you would 
not only enjoy the change, but you would feel greatly 
benefited.” 

“Really, my dear Mrs. Dangraw,” answered Win- 
ston Rand, “I truly appreciate your kindness. But I 
am afraid ten weeks of business life would prove more 
beneficial than one in society’s whirl. If one evening 
in your charming company so intoxicated me that I’d 
forgot myself and fallen asleep, what would I be at 
the end of a week?” 

“Oh, I am afraid you are a great flatterer,” shyly 
responded Mrs. Dangraw. 

“I must hurry away now,” said Winston. “I had 
an engagement at 12 m. I fear I’ll lose my practice 
and have to go out of business if I continue in this 
trend,” as he arose suddenly to leave. 


MRS, SLOCUM, MATCH-MAKER 137 


“Awfully abrupt good night !” remarked the widow, 
half pouting. 

“Abrupt!” interrupted Winston Rand. “I should 
consider it rather a prolonged good morning. A little 
longer and Td be in time for breakfast.” 

“Well, you might as well remain,” laughed the 
widow. “It will not be long now ere breakfast.” 

“Ha! ha!” laughed Rand. “Quite impossible this 
time, and remember, I have robbed you of your 
beauty sleep. Quite an unpardonable offense in itself. 
If you can really pardon a sleepy fellow like me, with 
your kind permission. I’ll try some time in the near 
future to prove I do not always forget my manners, or 
mix matters so badly as to go calling and fall into 
napping. Unpardonable offense !” 

“Will you call to-morrow? Remember the dinner 
party Wednesday evening in honor of the Blightsons 
and their three charming daughters from Melbourne. 
I will look for you,” continued Mrs. Dangraw, as 
Winston Rand raised his hat and hurried down the 
steps. 

“I’ll ’phone you later,” he said. “Good night!” 

“Good morning! you mean,” laughed Kitty Dan- 
graw. 

“Ah, so it is !” smiled Rand, with a last wave of his 
hand. 

Mrs. Dangraw closed the door, commenting to her- 
self : Well, if I ever saw such a cool leave-taking! 
Never even shook my hand. What a stupid man ! Had 
that been Sir Edmond Fay, he’d be holding my hand 
yet. Oh, dear! what a difference in men! But, of 


138 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


course, Sir Edmond — poor old chap — how could I 
ever compare handsome, stately Winston Rand with 
him? I wonder how Winston ever escaped being cap- 
tured by some woman ere this. Such a head ! And - 
what a, perfect poise and commanding look! Ah, well, 
how easy for one to know he’s a blue blood and 
college bred! I’m sure he hailed from Oxford; so 
English in his manners. Oh, dear ! sighed the widow, 

I really only meant a little harmless flirtation, but I 
believe I am positively in love with that man. I do 
hope that “mystic magic” will work some magic 
charm. Oh, my, I just can’t sleep! I’ll remain up. 
Perfect nonsense going to bed ; not to sleep but think, 
think, think, until my head and everything in the room 
is swimming round and round. I wonder if I am 
really in love. I wonder if Winston will sleep, dear 
fellow ! Or if that business partner will be up early 
and talk him to death. Ah, poor fellow! if he’d 
only come up for a week’s stay, he’d know me better, 
and grow as fond of me as I am of him. I must tell 
Nell; she’ll know just what to do. Oh, if he ever 
learned the truth that I doped him to get that lock of 
hair ! Really, I was so nervous, fearing every moment 
that he would come to. I made a shocking bald spot 
on his head, clipping more than I intended. How 
easy Nell worked her charm on Josh Slocum ! Nell’s 
lucky — always was. But Josh was old. So much 
in her favor. Is it any wonder there was no sleep for 
such an active mind as Katheryn Dangraw? 


CHAPTER XIII. 

JEAN HEARS WINSTON RAND’s STORY. 

W HEN Winston Rand entered the dining-room for 
breakfast he was surprised not to find Jean in 
her accustomed place. Eight o’clock! Yes, this is the 
hour she always takes breakfast, thought Winston as 
he beckoned to the waiter. “Tell me, waiter, has Mrs. 
Nash had breakfast?” 

“No, sah! Not here this morning, boss. Mrs. 
Nash left last night,” said the waiter, hurrying out 
with a tray full of dishes. Winston Rand was visibly 
affected by this news. Walking quickly from the 
dining-room he accosted the night-clerk, who was still 
loitering around the office getting ready to leave. 

“Yes, Mrs. Nash settled her bill in full,” replied the 
clerk in answer to Winston’s question. 

“Where did she go?” hastily enquired Winston. 
“Well, Mr. Rand, we did not consider it our busi- 
ness to pry into the lady’s affairs, therefore could not 
say,” answered the clerk. 

“What I mean,” said Winston Rand, “did she leave 
this hotel to stop at another in town?” 

“Oh! no,” quickly replied the clerk, “Mrs. Nash 
has left town.” ^ 

What could he do? Standing in deep thought a 
few moments, Winston Rand finally roused himself, 
settled his bill, saying he’d probably return in a few 
days. Passing out of the office into the street he again 


140 


THE MYSTIC 'PHONE 


paused as though dazed and not knowing which way 
to turn. Finally, walking a block, he turned into the 
short street leading to the depot. Going straight to 
the ticket office he inquired for the night agent. He 
had gone ; the day agent was already in his place. He 
knew nothing about tickets sold in the night. “You 
might find the night agent in the superintendent’s 
office,” continued the day agent. “I saw him go in 
there about five minutes ago. But you’ll have to watch 
close for him, as he will be going home.” 

Winston Rand watched the superintendent’s office 
so intently that the letters forming the words “Superin- 
tendent’s Office” on the door seemed to separate and 
dance all over that side of the door and wall. Win- 
ston began to think he would become cross-eyed if 
he looked much longer; and another thing, the agent 
may have gone out by another way. All this he was 
thinking when, suddenly, he was aroused from his 
mental calculating by the door opening quickly, which 
so startled him he almost forgot his errand there. 
The agent at first seemed very reticent regarding the 
matter. Didn’t know anything about it. “And what’s 
it to me where the lady went?” Here Winston Rand 
played “foxy” by telling the agent that it wouldn’t 
matter to him either if the lady wasn’t his wife. 

“Oh, ho !” smiled the agent. “She has given you the 
shake, has she? Well, I sold a lady a ticket last night 
about 10 o’clock for Belclair. Now, whether she is the 
one, that’s more than I can say, or whether she really 
stopped ofif at Belclair or not. We are not running a 
detective agency, you know. Call up ‘O’ and they will 


WINSTON RAND’S STORY 


141 

give you ^Twenty-three/ Just what you want, no 
doubt,” laughed the agent, as he left, wishing Winston 
success. 

Winston bought a ticket for Belclair, arriving there 
at 8 o’clock. He found it a prosperous little city. 
Everyone seemed to be hurrying to and fro in a busi- 
ness-like manner. Stopping at a news-stand to buy 
a paper, he was amazed to find, on the first page, Jean’s 
name, in a blazing advertisement: “Free lectures in 
Olympic Hall all week.” 

“Blast Slocum Heights,” muttered Winston Rand 
between his teeth. “I can’t move two pegs without 
this woman. What a beastly lie I told that agent! 
Here she has an education, can swim and paddle her 
own canoe admirably without me. Mon Dieu! Mon 
Dieu!” exclaimed Winston, much excited. A man, 
physically a woman’s superior, but mentally, for lack 
of education, her inferior. Mon Dieu! What shall I 
do — go drown myself at once and end it all, or 
continue to trot along submissively while she shines 
like a great beacon-light, and I, well, like a faithful, 
trusted watchdog, pull up in the rear? and even now 
I feel willing to bask in the shadow of that light, 
useful, perhaps, physically, to keep off intruders. 
Thus was the trend of Winston’s mind ere summoning 
up courage to see Jean at her hotel. Finally, mounting 
the winding marble stair leading to the hotel, which 
was beautifully situated on a high-terraced lawn, 
affording a charming view of the entire city, Winston 
Rand carelessly glanced over the register, then walked 
leisurely into the public parlor, where, to his utter sur- 


142 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


prise, he came face to face with Jean, in conversation 
with another party. Bowing good morning in his 
suave manner, Winston had grace enough to wait 
until Jean was free to see him, which, of course, she 
had no intention of doing, since she started to leave 
the parlor alone. Whereupon Winston seeing this, he 
stepped up in the most humble fashion, begging a few 
words with her. As Jean made no reply, he continued : 

“Mrs. Nash, why did you treat me in this manner? 
You know I can do nothing without your help.” 

“Mr. Rand, I am sure you are laboring under a 
mistaken i idea,” said Jean. “You got along nicely 
before meeting me. I simply wish to discontinue our 
business relations, and hereafter do business alone — 
independently. My children need my attention now 
more than ever. You have the opportunity to marry 
in the Millionaire Slocum family, and I consider it 
your golden opportunity, since you have a daughter. 
It is your duty now to study her interest and 
throw her in circles where she will meet influential 
people and people of caste and wealth, just when she 
needs it most. What is a girl’s life from twelve to 
twenty, if there is no sunshine in those years for her? 
After taking on the sterner duties of life (marriage 
and motherhood), which are hers by a divine decree, 
the days are not gloomy, or her cares heavy, if those 
youthful years are bright and filled with sunshine : for 

Rocking her babe into dreamland, 

In her mind pleasant memories throng; 

As the scenes shift before her vision, 

Making life one perpetual song.” 


WINSTON RAND^S STORY 


143 


Thus Jean argued with Winston Rand for his child. 

'‘Now, Mrs. Nash, do not be foolish,” interrupted 
Winston. “You know, I am quite sure, of my awful 
plight. I have not been able to conceal my deficiency 
from you, an educated woman.” 

“It is I who advise you not to be foolish, Mr. 
Rand,” said Jean, trying to smile. “You have friends 
at Slocum Heights; do not discard them so readily.” 

“Friends !” exclaimed Winston, much excited. 
“Your dollar’s your friend ! You only learn this valu- 
able lesson in the school of experience, and sometimes 
at a dear cost. Friends! Mon Dieu! Why, my dear 
Mrs. Nash,” continued Winston, “they would have no 
use for me at Slocum Heights if they knew, or even 
dreamed, the secret I am going to tell you now. 
Although I am sure you do know the truth already — 
that I cannot write — my — name.” 

Here, Winston Rand, who had been walking the 
floor, threw himself on a nearby couch and wept like 
a child. 

“You cannot write your name?” exclaimed Mrs. 
Nash, much surprised. “You are surely joking, Mr. 
Rand? 

He could not answer her ; only shook his head in the 
negative and wept more violently. 

“I understand all now,” replied Jean, “regarding 
the registering and signing of checks.” 

“Exactly,” answered Winston Rand. 

“Then, Mr. Rand, take my advice,” implored Jean. 
“It is all the more reason why you should avail your- 
self of the opportunity of marrying Mrs. Dangraw, 


144 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


since she is, I know, exceedingly fond of you. I do 
not believe your deficiency would play any part with 
her at all. She seems like a reasonable person. And,” 
continued Jean, ‘Vhere love truly exists, it is blind to 
many things we would otherwise consider objection- 
able. It is love that shuts the parents’ eyes against 
the shortcomings of their offspring. It is love that 
smoothes over many rough places, leading us to 
heights we otherwise could not attain. It was love 
that brought a Saviour to the world, who gave His 
life for many. So it is love that blinds the lover’s 
eyes, which even marriage ofttimes fails to cover.” 

“O Mrs. Nash !” interrupted Winston, “I detest the 
looks of that woman. Her persistency has caused 
me to loathe her company. It was the money I was 
interested in, nothing more. Now it rises like a vapor 
to curse my very steps. Mon Dieu! Tainted money, 
indeed ! I have always loved money,” continued Win- 
ston; necessity made me its slave. I never saw any- 
thing or anybody worth loving since old Captain 
Haroway died until I met you. Everything, believe 
me, Mrs. Nash, in the way of friendship seemed spuri- 
ous — a sham. I had gone down so deep, it seemed 
I had touched the very depths of hell itself in my 
experience, only to find my dollar was my friend. 
When I did not have it I was smaller than the smallest 
worm that crawls, with every passing foot upon my 
head, pressing me farther down, down to blackness 
and despair. But believe me, Mrs. Nash, upon the 
honor of a man who values his word even beyond the 
worshiped dollar, I, Winston Rand, have starved for 


WINSTON RAND’S STORY 


145 


days and nearly froze to death in the very awe-inspir- 
ing Rockies that girt your western States. But there’s 
a hand, although untrained to the use of pen, has 
never been stigmatized with crime or dishonored. It 
is the hand of an unlettered man, tried through the 
fire of adversity; but it is the hand of an honest man, 
who owes no man a dollar. I cannot be persuaded to 
believe you have not noticed my blunderings and 
shortcomings. But never once have you made me feel 
my inferiority. At Slocum Heights all they talk from 
morning till night is culture, polish, style — style, polish, 
culture — until one’s relieved to rid himself of 
so much sham without depth. Why, Mrs. Nash,” 
continued Winston, “if they dreamed I emerged from 
other than famed Oxford my doom would be sealed.” 

“I must acknowledge being greatly surprised 
myself,” remarked Jean. “While ofttimes I may have 
noticed small deficiencies, I supposed you had some 
education.” 

“Why, my dear Mrs. Nash, I candidly confess I 
cannot either read or write,” humbly spoke Winston, 
burying his face in his hands. I have kept that a 
secret from the world.” 

“My! It seems almost impossible to believe, Mr. 
Rand,” interrupted Jean. “I cannot see how you 
managed to do business with educated people.” 

“That is the secret,” replied Winston. “I managed 
very nicely, with the aid of my little office boy I picked 
up in England. But he finally grew homesick, and 
returned to his home. Since then I have never felt 
like trusting another.” 


146 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


‘‘Why, how did you manage?” inquired Jean, much 
interested. 

“Well, my appearance and bearing have always been 
in my favor, and being financially successful 
of late, I had plenty of money, and that seemed to 
cover up a multitude of defects in my case. I picked 
my company only among influential, lucky and thor- 
oughly honest people — people who valued their word 
as their honor and paid as they went. I cannot read 
or write, but no man can say I owe him a dollar. I 
have traveled the world over, and find honesty and 
industry the only two policies for anyone — rich or 
poor, learned or unlearned — to hold. With them you 
can look the world in the face. Not that I am in the 
least conceited. But a man with suave manners, 
appearance, a good dresser, shrewd financier, com- 
bined with a general knowledge, from travel and 
experience, of the world, and how to express his 
ideas interestingly to others, that man will often be 
found moving in better circles than a man wearing 
university medals and speaking many tongues, not 
knowing how to apply his carefully acquired knowl- 
edge. Too much university culture and polish often 
creates unfortunate subjects for insane asylums, instead 
of bright men and women. Because,” continued 
Winston Rand, “a nonsensical pride conveys some 
minds so high above their fellow man they are unfitted 
for anything except to bask in the realm of false ideals, 
blind to treasures near their very door, ever pursuing 
the phantom ship afar. If wealth is theirs, they not 
infrequently spend it in dissipation and debauch here 


WINSTON RAND^S STORY 


147 


and there, until their life is wrecked. Never will I 
forget the good advice the old captain gave me. I 
did not understand it then; I was too young. But 
he told me I would in time ; and I did.” 

“Your parents must have died very young,” inter- 
rupted Jean, “for I see you have had a wide range of 
experience.” 

“I will tell you all,” replied Winston Rand ; “how I 
cheated myself out of education and everything. My 
parents were very wealthy, but they belonged to a 
religious sect in Utah that even as a boy I disliked. 
My brothers and sisters were highly educated, and 
moved in the most exclusive social circles. But that 
matters neither here nor there to me now. I was 
ten years of age when my father died. I ran away 
from home, knocking around here, there and every- 
where. I did not mind it then. My disposition seemed 
to be a roving one. Everybody I met in those days 
was extremely kind to me, and I found plenty of places 
to act as a chore boy. But knowing I was under age, 
I lived in constant dread that my mother or brothers 
would find me and march me back to Utah. I partly 
worked and begged my way to New York. I got 
aboard a vessel just leaving port, unknown to anybody. 
I slipi>ed aboard with a woman and five children, 
keeping very quiet until the old ship was well on her 
way out. Then I didn’t care who knew I was aboard. 
I did not try to hide myself as a ‘stowaway.’ I was 
too anxious to watch the pilot and captain. Finally, 
after three days out, the captain began watching me 
in a manner that caused me no little uneasiness. After 


148 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


deciding in his mind that it was evident I belonged 
to no one in particular aboard his ship, he called me 
to task, even tried to frighten me by declaring, since 
I had no passport, there was nothing for him to do 
but throw me overboard, trying my courage so far 
as to call up two sailors and ordering them to put me 
in a sack and throw me overboard, which they did, 
ducking me completely. I am sure I would have been 
very much frightened had I not noticed, from a small 
hole in the sack, the old captain wink mischievously 
at the sailor tying the sack. I knew from his kind 
old face he would let no harm befall me, although 
not denying the fact I was badly scared. When they 
drew me aboard the ship the dear old captain was the 
first to congratulate me on my narrow escape by taking 
hold of the back of my collar and shaking me until I 
hardly knew whether I would rather die by drown- 
ing or shaking. Looking at me, and shaking all over 
with laughter, he said : 'I don’t know where you come 
from, lad, but you have the right stuff in you to make 
a man. I guess I will keep you as the ship’s “mascot.” 
How would you like to call the sea your home ? Speak 
quick! or overboard you go. Have you got a home 
anywhere on the globe, and do you like the sea?’ 

“Every energetic nerve in my little, old frame, 
answered for me. And in my eyes the captain, an 
old bachelor, past sixty, read the truth, and said. 
Well, I will keep you, lad, for luck.’ Back and forth 
we traveled the sea for three years. Ah! they were 
my happiest years. Surely a father never was kinder ! 
Nothing was quite good enough for me. A London 


WINSTON RAND^S STORY 


149 


tailor made my clothes, which consisted of white flannel, 
made to a dot like the captain's clothes. On my little 
white cap, in gilt lettering, was ‘Captain Winston.' 
It is not saying too much to believe the captain loved 
me; and, as for myself, I will never begin to tell you 
how much I loved the old fellow. Seated in our cabin 
one squally night, the sea much rougher than any 
time since I called the billowy waves my home. Captain 
Haroway broke the silence by remarking, ‘Captain 
Winston, we go up to London when anchor's cast; 
you need some clothes.' ‘Haven't I enough to do a 
while yet, captain ?' I answered. ‘There are nine suits 
in my chest that is fairly good.' ‘Not enough,' 
answered Captain Haroway, as he continued, ‘Captain 
Winston, what were you thinking about so intently 
on deck to-day ? Have you forgotten, or can it be, lad, 
you are growing tired of the sea?' ‘No, no!' captain, 
I quickly replied. I have not forgotten, for I think 
of the same subject very often. Would you like to 
know what it is?' ‘Yes, indeed!' the old man replied. 
‘Well, Captain Haroway, I was just thinking and 
trying to reason out the same thing when you spoke 
a moment ago, and it is this : You are so very good 
to me I guess I never will be able to pay you back. 
I would like to call you father, if you didn't object. 
To say captain is very nice, but it keeps us too far 
apart.' ‘Why, my boy, God bless you!' exclaimed 
the old man, drawing me nearer to him, ‘call me any- 
thing you want to. But why is it you wish to call 
me father, more than anything else?' ‘Well, I have 
tried to think it out, and you have been such a good 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


150 

friend to me, but ‘"friend” isn’t strong enough. I think 
a father does everything for you without your know- 
ing he is even thinking of you. And that would bring 
us just about right, captain, I think, for you are 
always thinking of me.’ The old “salt” was in genuine 
tears. His oldest sailors knew the captain had lost 
a sweetheart years back. Laying his hand on my head, 
he said, ‘My lad, just as long as I am captain of this 
ship, or got a home, it is yours, though school 
advantages aboard a ship are limited to actual experi- 
ence. I will send you up to London to school, my 
boy ; you must have learning.’ ‘O captain, no !’ I cried, 
‘I would rather stay with you. I just want to live 
with you and be with you always.’ ‘All right, then, 
my boy,’ said the captain, ‘you shall remain, and I will 
engage a tutor aboard ship, if I can find one willing 
to live at sea a while.’ I never reached the age to 
fully understand and appreciate his good advice until 
his dear old head rested under the ground in a little 
English churchyard, near his boyhood sweetheart. Many 
times, when a young man, working in very humble 
walks of life, owing to my lack of education, I would 
meet fine, college-bred men; and while I stand and 
weep to-day for lack of education, I have much to 
be thankful for. My health is perfect, while they — 
ah ! poor, miserable wretches ! — wept in their agony for 
the health they so idly threw away in dissipation. How 
bright were their hopes and aspirations when starting 
out to meet the world ! Honor, education, wealth and 
position were theirs, and the world met them with the 
bright smile of hope. But to-day none smile or lend 


WINSTON RAND^S STORY 


151 

a cheering word. They stand alone on the brink of 
the grave, waiting death’s kind hand to relieve them 
of the awful stigma engrafted in the very vitals of 
their life through dissipation and folly. They knock 
at the door of science. The wise doctor, looking out, 
cries, 'Too late!’ Every friend they meet seems to 
shout the cry, 'Too late!’ until their own heart and 
brain, wearied with the hopeless agony, echo back, 
'Too late!’ Then death, the kindest of all, extends 
a welcome which they gladly accept, with the grate- 
ful cry: 'O Death, where is thy sting! O Grave, 
where is thy victory !’ I have no education,” continued 
Winston Rand; "but I have much to be thankful for. 
I never felt my deficiency while a boy roving around; 
but now, as a man, I think as a man, and feel the 
keen, cutting blade of knowledge, as it crosses swords 
with the rusty blade of ignorance, each day striking 
deeper into my pride, until it is maddening. I feel 
the curse of ignorance more than ever now. You and 
the captain are the only real, true friends I ever met. 
God knows my heart. I love you both more than I 
ever did my own people.” 

"It is not too late yet, Mr. Rand,” interrupted Jean. 
"There are plenty of night schools, which leave no 
possible excuse for anyone remaining in ignorance, 
or preventing their mounting to the highest seat of 
learning. History points out examples galore of illus- 
trious men and women who have surmounted the 
obstacles found in the way, and by their own perse- 
verance won laurels. With all the modern advantages 


152 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


it is very easy, if one applies himself, to learn almost 
anything from observation.” 

“Yes; I know all you say is very true,” replied 
Winston; “but I never could sum up courage to go 
to school now at my age.” 

“Then, you would prefer staying behind to braving 
the harmless mortification of the schoolroom for the 
little time it lasted,” replied Jean, as curtly as though 
she was talking to a boy. 

“Oh, if you will only take me as a pupil and teach 
me how to read and write,” said Winston, “I know I 
could learn more quickly from you than anyone. You 
are so very kind and patient. I would not feel I was 
forever disgraced. Allow me to be your pupil,” 
pleaded Winston. “I will promise to study so hard. 
Not once will you regret the task.” 

Jean tried hard to refuse and stick to her argument 
of remaining in business independently ; but her “good 
heart” overruled again, and she and Winston Rand 
continued in partnership. 

Every evening, after business, you could see Win- 
ston Rand bending over his copy-book. 

Oh, when the golden days of youth flee how eager 
we try to reach out for lost opportunities! But they 
come not as in a night. It is the patient toiling for 
the little each day that the child finally grasps enough 
to stand on a firm footing. It is much harder to apply 
the mind and acquire steadiness after one’s life has been 
beset with numerous other trials. But Winston Rand 
was in earnest now, and applied every unoccupied 
moment to learn. 


WINSTON RAND’S STORY 


153 


Mrs. Slocum decided she would have to give up 
trying to make this match a go as long as Mrs. Nash 
was on the carpet. Winston Rand had not called in 
two months. Not for anything would she let Josh 
Slocum know that she had paid another thousand 
dollars to the “seer” for Kitty’s benefit to catch Win- 
ston Rand. 

Poor Kitty! Her nerves were so unstrung the 
evening she clipped that lock of hair, she did not 
discover until next morning that in her haste to sew 
up the little seam she ripped to insert the magic mystic 
powder there must have been a sleight-of-hand trick 
somewhere, for there, beneath the palm branches in 
the bay window on the floor lay the wicked-looking 
little package, clumsily tied with Winston’s brown, 
curly locks. 

“No wonder,” sighed the widow, “he did not bid 
me a fond good night ; not a trace of mystic magic on 
him. How could I possibly have made such a blunder, 
after getting him in such a good, sound sleep? Oh, 
dear! I ought to have called Nell to do that particu- 
lar finish. If that had been Nell, instead of blundering 
me, the wedding bells would have rung out long before 
this. Oh, my I I wish I was as lucky, as Nell. When I 
think how earnestly I worked to fix that 'fiddlestick' 
powder and sew up that seam! I dare not remember 
such an awful experience. I’ll bet it is crooked, puck- 
ered and — Why, here’s the little needle — Oh, 
horrors! Worse and worse! If I didn’t sew that 
seam with white thread! What will he ever imagine 
happened to that seam botched up in such a style? 


154 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


Really/’ continued the widow, growing more excited, 
have had nothing but trouble, and everything all 
muddled up since going to see that “seer” on the Pacific 
Coast. I am afraid that is an unlucky business to get 
running after, for Nell’s baby, instead of being even a 
plain, every-day boy, let alone a Lord Byron that she 
paid for, it came to light a puny, squawky, red-faced 
girl, with no marks of greatness, or any indications that 
she will be anything for some time but a “squawker.” 
Why, that child has squalled and squalled for three 
weeks. She will either kill herself or the rest of us 
with her noise. Nell is a little skeptical about the 
genuine, all-round worth of her “seer” now, although 
she will not allow anyone else to doubt his worth. I 
would not either had I caught a millionaire with that 
bait. And it must have been the mystic magic. What 
else, thought Kitty, reflectively. Ding, ding! Oh, 
dear ! The door bell. Really, my nerves are so upset 
that even the bell startles me!” 


CHAPTER XIV. 

ACROSS THE RIVER AT MIDNIGHT. 

M rs. Nash and Winston Rand had accumulated 
some money, and therefore decided to settle down 
in an establishment of their own. St. Paul, Minn., 
was selected as their residential city. Yes, this was 
the city they preferred. 

Being in Chicago, they shopped for two weeks, look- 
ing for ‘‘extra” furnishings suitable to their tastes. 
Everything was bought now, and their house thor- 
oughly furnished from top to bottom in a most up-to- 
date manner. After spending six months in getting 
everything in running order, when they should have 
felt like taking their easy chair and noticing the result 
of their labor, then a sudden impulse rises and orders 
another start, discovering that wasn’t the town to 
live in. 

“Where is the map?” inquired Jean. “Ah, yes! 
There is the very place — Philadelphia, the City of 
Brotherly Love. Why didn’t we see this ere now? 
Yes; that’s the city.” 

A car was chartered, filled with household goods 
and shipped to Philadelphia. 

“We are in luck,” remarked Winston, as he entered 
the hotel parlor, returning from a house-hunting trip. 
“I have rented Colonel Dale’s new home. He is going 
to Europe.” 

“Ah! luck favors us,” replied Jean. “I knew this 
was the city as soon as I saw it on the map.” 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


156 

So fitting up in a new style to suit the most fastidi- 
ous taste, spending several thousand dollars for more 
furnishings, after everything seemed arranged and in 
its proper place, once more, after strenuous labor, 
when they should have felt like enjoying the comfort 
of this restive home, the old restless spirit reaches out 
for change and variety. In Quaker meetings the 
Friends wait for the Spirit to move them, but they 
are liberal in this, respecting the stranger in their 
gates. They do not enforce their religious restrictions 
on others. So Jean and Winston Rand did not wait 
for the Spirit to move them. They chartered a car 
and moved themselves. Again the map is consulted. 

^‘How would Chicago do ?” Jean ventured to inquire. 

“Oh, no!’’ exclaimed Winston. “I did not favor 
the Windy City when we shopped there. But how' 
would St. Louis do?” 

“Oh, never I” replied Jean. “The Mississippi would 
rise and swallow everything. Let us return to 
Belclair.” 

“No, no!” interrupted Winston, “that is too near 
the Slocums. Since we cannot seem to decide let us 
go to Niagara. Possibly the Maid o’ the Mist will 
invigorate both our mental and physical conditions 
against this ‘Will-o’-the-Wisp’ fashion we have drifted 
into.” 

After spending two weeks in this delightful spot 
of nature’s handiwork, Rochester was the city next 
in turn to receive the chartered car. Here a beautiful 
home was rented and furnished throughout. They 
also had horses and carriages to drive out through the 


A MIDNIGHT RIVER-CROSSING 157 


fine surrounding country, to beautiful Charlotte 
Harbor, about twelve miles from the city, this being 
a favorite drive. 

Here and there the Indian and his squaw live in their 
picturesque wigwams, swinging their little papooses 
in rough-made hammocks, while the squaws weave 
baskets and knit lace. The chief and male members 
of the tribe care for the horses and carriages of visi- 
tors in the most courteous manner, that leave not only 
pleasant memories in the mind regarding these wan- 
dering tribes, but also the fact that Indians do not 
necessarily have to be dead Indians to be good Indians. 

The weather during August was exceptionally 
pleasant, not the least uncomfortable for summer. 
Jean and Winston Rand had taken in almost all the 
drives within twenty-five miles of the city. They were 
just growing accustomed, as one would suppose, to 
the town and its surroundings when, as usual, the map 
was consulted, and it was emphatically decided that 
this was anything but the right town. 

'^Ah!” exclaimed Winston, “here is a fine little 
place along the 'Maumie’ river. I can tell from the 
looks of that place on the map it must be the place.’^ 

For the fourth time the car was chartered and every- 
thing shipped again. 

Orlando was a pretty little city, with broad streets, 
lined with beautiful, tall, waving trees. Vineland 
Avenue, the brag street of the city, claimed the pretti- 
est trees, tall willows, whose branches had met and 
interwoven themselves in such a manner that they 
formed a complete archway through the entire avenue. 


158 


THE MYSTIC ‘PHONE 


Here, in a fine old-fashioned house, terraced back 
from the street, on a fine lawn, with large roomy bam 
and excellent garden, Jean and Winston Rand decided 
to locate. Every gossip, near and far, looked in 
wonder and expectation for great things to come from 
people having enough ready cash to rent the “Com- 
stock” homestead, which had remained idle several 
years, at least since Colonel Comstock’s death. 

“They are going to keep horses, carriages, a cow, 
chickens, a gardener, coachman and other servants. 
Rich people, of course! Have they bought half the 
town, or what?” 

Never in the Colonel’s time was there such a look of 
prosperity. In due time the townspeople, being com- 
pletely captivated with the way the newcomers spent 
money, bowed approval — from the banker, the preach- 
er, the professional as well as the non-professional, 
down to the chore boy. All concluded they were the 
right kind of people to have in a town to build it up. 
If the wind would only blow a few more like them 
from prosperous fields, the town could in a short while 
well afford a statue of prosperity in the public square. 

Jean decided she was prosperous enough now to 
have her children enjoy some of the fruits of her labor, 
instead of being confined in an institution longer. 

She and Winston Rand talked it over. Winston felt 
the same regarding his daughter, and they decided to 
bring the little folks home. 

It was the latter part of January. The weather was 
bitter cold. Jean had made up her mind to go, and 
did not intend to allow a small thing like cold to deter 


A MIDNIGHT RIVER-CROSSING 159 


her plans. She started early in the morning, with her 
heart light and happy over the happiness in store and 
the joy awaiting the little ones. They would have 
plenty of outdoor exercise. She stopped first at the 
home for Edna. The poor child jumped for joy, not 
having seen her mother in two years, nor dreaming 
of seeing her so soon. It was a thorough surprise to 
Edna. The happiness that beamed in her little face 
when given another surprise, by learning her mamma 
had come to take her home, was beyond description. 
In her little heart she had dreamed of it all, and built 
huge castles in the air when sleep forbid to close her 
eyes. But she did not know just when her dreams and 
air castles would really materialize. 

Jean’s next stop was at the boys’ home, where little 
curly-headed Armond stayed. Here Jean encountered 
some difficulty in gaining any satisfaction for a while 
— the little cloud, thought Jean, that always seems to 
crowd in on the sunshine. 

At first the matron positively refused her even seeing 
little Armond, until Jean insisted that she must see 
her boy. She had come a long distance and intended 
taking him home. ‘"Oh,” exclaimed the matron, ''that 
is different! We are always glad to have one less 
to care for, where the army is so large and so much 
care demanded,’’ hurrying from the room and return- 
ing in a few moments with little Armond, his head 
tightly bandaged. 

"Oh I” exclaimed Jean, as the little fellow entered 
the parlor and ran to her arms. "My darling! Oh! 
what is the matter with my darling child?” 


i6o 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


And well she might ask. What a pitiful sight for 
a mother, who had left her boy looking handsome and 
bright, his golden curls falling picturesquely over his 
forehead! Now the golden curls she prided in so 
much all matted, and his little head in a mass of sores. 

“Oh, what is the matter with my child?” again 
pleaded Jean, weeping and nearly frantic. 

“Ah! the little boy,” explained the matron in her 
quiet manner, “he caught this malady from wearing 
another child’s cap, whose head was very much 
diseased. We are very sorry, indeed, madam, about 
it!” 

“Oh, how could anyone be so careless as to let 
diseased children play among healthy children?” cried 
Jean, much distressed. “Oh, my darling is ruined, 
ruined! and how hard I worked to pay for his care 
here in an orphans’ home ! I did not have to pay in an 
institution of this kind, but did it out of my good heart, 
because I was proud and could not bear to ask any- 
one to care for my children without pay. I was young 
and inexperienced. I did not know, and thought this 
was the best place for them at the time. And, oh! 
this is the result,” she said, as she bowed her head, 
with both arms around little Armond’s neck, and wept. 

“Yes, my child,” interrupted the matron, mildly; 
“you must remember also we did not have to take 
your child. This is only an orphans’ home. Out of 
charity we accepted your little boy until, as you 
stated at the time, you could do better and care for 
him.” 

“Yes, yes !” exclaimed Jean, in her excitement. “I 


A MIDNIGHT RIVER-CROSSING i6i 


see it all now. It is the curse of their father not having 
pride and honor enough to care for his family. Some 
women would not care either. But I love my children, 
and considered this the best thing to do under the 
circumstances.’’ 

“My child,” replied the matron, “it is not our fault. 
Our institutions are public, and our lives are given to 
serve the unfortunate poor. The waif and orphan drift 
under our shelter from the storms of life and influences 
that are varied as life itself. Misfortune, sickness, sin 
and death scatter members of the human family in 
different channels. We never can tell, my child, what 
breaks up the home. Our doors are open to receive 
the maimed, the halt and lame — in fact, the unfortunate 
children in whatever condition they fall. We try to 
do our best for them, sometimes failing to do all we 
would like. Life, my dear, is full of shattered roses. 
We try to pick up the fragments that remain. We, too, 
are but human, and must often ask God for strength 
and courage to do our duty well.” 

“Oh, forgive my thoughtlessness !” interrupted 
Jean. “I know you do all you can. I was wrong in 
speaking so hastily. If a man does not care for his 
children, no one should find fault or condemn you 
and others who have, I know, in many instances, left 
homes of refinement and luxury to devote your lives 
to the homeless and friendless. Yes, I was hasty; 
but forgive me,” said Jean, as she rose to leave. 

“Ah, my child, I understand and freely forgive. 
I, too, was a mother,” answered the little French 
matron, “and understand a mother’s love.” 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


162 

It was late when Jean reached the depot. A heavy 
snow had fallen, and the cold was intense. The 
children, while being comfortably dressed, had nothing 
but the clothes they wore, therefore no extra baggage 
to be looked after. 

Jean just had time to purchase her tickets and get 
aboard the train when it started out of the station, 
steaming and snorting, westward. 

It was 9 p. m. when at last, after two days’ journey, 
the train pulled into the little station opposite Orlando, 
covered with snow and icicles. 

“Our journey will soon be over,” remarked Jean to 
Armond and Edna, whose eyes had not closed scarcely 
a moment since the trip began. Childlike, anxious 
to see everything after being shut up so long, they 
were afraid to sleep for fear something might occur 
and they would miss seeing it. 

A worse experience confronted them. The Maumie 
river, which always rose to a great height during the 
winter and early spring, doing much damage, was 
far past the record mark, and was still rising, the 
bridge being completely submerged. The only thing 
visible in the water showing a bridge had ever been 
there, was the tops of a long line of freight cars, 
stalled before the fast-rising tide entirely covered the 
bridge. 

“No crossing to-night!” shouted the watchman, as 
the people hurried toward the bridge entrance. “No 
crossing to-night!” he shouted once more. 

“Oh ! I’ve got to get home on business some way,” 
remarked a lawyer, impatiently walking up and 


A MIDNIGHT RIVER-CROSSING 163 


down. “I don’t like the looks of that crossing, but it’s 
business. Hate like the deuce to risk it,” he continued, 
looking on the still fast rising tide. 

“You cross at your own risk,” shouted the watchman. 

“If crossing is possible, sir,” interrupted Jean, 
stepping up to the watchman, “I’m willing to risk it. 
I must get home to-night.” 

“Madam,” replied the watchman with much firm- 
ness, “it is an impossibility; the bridge is completely 
submerged. Nothing but cars to walk on. The brake- 
man just in, reports they’re all ice, and in many places 
some of the cars entirely submerged, and the water 
still rising. You could not possibly get across safe, 
and having two children you never could make it. 
You’d find you had more than you bargained for. 
No crossing to-night!” again shouted the watchman, 
as a train full of eager passengers arrived, looking 
inquiringly as they gazed out, seeing no bridge, and 
the station partly covered with water in places. 

“If the brakeman crossed from the other side,” de- 
clared Jean, growing anxious, “I’m going to risk cross- 
ing.” 

“Well, madam, if you are going to make the attempt 
with those two children, you’re not going alone. I’ll 
assist you if I can,” ejaculated the lawyer. 

“At your own risk I At your own risk I” shouted the 
watchman. “Remember, at your own risk! It is a 
two-mile stretch.” 

No one else felt sufficiently brave to start. So Jean 
with her two children and Lawyer Osborn started, 
with part of the crowd behind exclaiming, “Oh, come 


164 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


back ! Don’t risk such perilous danger !” But on they 
went until the people’s and watchman’s cries died out 
in the distance. 

‘‘Now, madam,” remarked Lawyer Osborn, “you 
follow me very carefully. I’ll take the little fellow — 
easy now, there’s an icy place. Be careful how you 
step.” 

“O mamma, I’m all over in my shoetops full of 
water,” exclaimed Edna, as a wave swept over the box 
car, causing them all to stand still a moment on the 
rocking cars. 

“We’ll step a little further now,” continued Lawyer 
Osborn. “Careful now! Here’s a coupling. Stand 
there, little man, till I help your mamma and sister 
over. There we are, over three cars. So far, so good. 
Here’s another icy place and coupling. Careful, 
madam! Don’t attempt to step over unaided with 
that little girl,” said Lawyer Osborn, as Jean started, 
but slipped. “The cars are very icy. I’ll give you a 
lift. Careful, now! Don’t move, little fellow, till 
mamma and sister get over.” 

On and on in this fashion, over ice-covered cars 
for a bridge, they slowly crept until the other side 
was reached. Persistence and courage crowned the 
little company’s efforts, as they safely reached the 
Orlando side, after picking their way for one hour over 
the most unique bridge that ever spanned the Maumie. 

Jean, knowing she never could have accomplished 
the perilous trip without Lawyer Osborn’s aid, 
thanked him over and over, knowing, too, to proffer 


A MIDNIGHT RIVER-CROSSING 165 


money to such a noble man would be nothing short of 
gross insolence. 

“That is all right, madam. Glad I could be of 
service to you. I was anxious to get home myself,” 
said Lawyer Osborn, and we were all company for 
one another.” 

Jean found another surprise waiting. Her home, 
which stood back three blocks from the river, had 
always been considered far away from the danger-line. 
The river had reached the terrace wall, covering the 
two lower steps. People living on the two streets 
below were forced to the second and third stories, and 
compelled to row out through the windows in boats, 
their basements and first floors being completely sub- 
merged. 

Jean’s house being terraced high, and standing far 
back, protected by the solid stone wall from the side- 
walk, there was no immediate danger of their home 
being damaged, unless the river, which had already 
overstepped its bounds, should continue to rise, which 
was very unlikely. 

It proved impossible to attempt the other two trips 
that week. But two weeks later Jean started for her 
oldest boy, Ralph, a manly-looking lad of twelve years. 
On her return, two days later, Winston Rand met 
them as they entered the door, at once giving Ralph 
a sarcastic look, remarking as he snapped his fingers : 
“That boy is too small to work or attend horses.” Edna 
was too small to work; Armond also. Poor young- 
sters, it was plain to be seen they were going to be in 
the way from Winston Rand’s point of view. 


i66 


THE MYSTIC 'PHONE 


How easy it seems for a man or woman to find one 
of the opposite sex to care for them, while in many 
cases, generally speaking, they only harbor ill-will 
toward the other’s children — appreciating the fact that 
there are exceptions to the rule. Edna and Armond, 
the smaller children, seemed to manage in a way to 
get along with Winston Rand. But there was cross 
swords between he and Ralph from start to finish. 
If things went wrong in business, in the house — any- 
where, in fact — Ralph was to blame. And Winston 
Rand’s vials of wrath were continually being poured 
out upon him. Jean must not spend too much time 
with her own children. It not only spoiled them, but 
kept them in a ^^sassy” mood toward him. 

Jealousy was the keynote to Winston Rand’s nature 
of late. The children had to be kept busy doing some- 
thing all the time. As fast as one task was accom- 
plished he readily found another. There was no play 
or foolishness tolerated. It all helped to make them 
''sassy.” Under no consideration must they even stick 
so much as their little nose in the parlor. They would 
spoil things. Their proper place was in the rear. Just 
let Winston Rand see one sitting on the front steps, 
or even going out or coming in the front door, the 
look he gave them was enough. They never commit- 
ted the offense the second time. 

Ah, how changed the scene! His own little girl, 
Mabel, had just arrived from the good French Sisters 
of Mercy. She must be dressed three or four times a 
day, sit in the parlor with papa, enjoy the passing 
breeze from the front veranda, in her own little ham- 


A MIDNIGHT RIVER-CROSSING 167 


mock or lawn swing; or, better still, go driving with 
papa behind the spirited team. She was one, while 
Ralph, Edna and Armond were three — quite a crowd 
— too many entirely to drive in a gentleman’s carriage. 

Things came to a climax with Ralph when he openly 
resented an insult from Winston Rand, who, seeing 
his opportunity, ordered Ralph from the house. Think 
you, my gentle reader, he, a boy of twelve, cringed 
under such an insult, or ran to inform his mother? 
Not so; but with the blood of a glorious independent 
American in his veins he turned his face toward the 
world; nor flinched to accept the bitter cup before 
him, of seeking honest employment. Being a bright 
boy, men were not slow to see and appreciate having 
a boy of Ralph’s stamp around. He found he could 
care for himself and be treated respectfully and 
humanely by strangers. So Ralph was proud and happ3^ 
to think he was thoroughly independent of asking help 
from home. 


CHAPTER XV. 


THE ARRIVAL OF MRS. RAND. 

I T was during the summer, when the weather was 
very warm, and Winston Rand and Jean had been 
talking for weeks over the possibility of getting away 
from business and rusticating in the mountains or 
some watering resort. It was the evening before start- 
ing for the mountains. Their plans were all made. 
Seated in the library talking, suddenly the bell 
rang violently. Winston Rand quickly stepped to the 
door, expecting to find, what he thought, a crowd of 
mischievous boys ringing the bell for sport, when to 
his utter surprise a short, stout woman whom he recog- 
nized, accompanied by two men, entered without 
invitation. The woman exclaimed in very exciting 
tones, pointing to Winston Rand, “Officer, that man is 
my husband. And — Oh, my darling child!” she 
cried, embracing Mabel, who had run out in the hall 
at the sound of the woman’s voice. “My darling ! My 
darling little child! They stole you from your loving 
mother. My child ! my child ! My lovely little angel !” 

“Madam,” interrupted the officer, “we have no time 
to waste. What are your orders?” 

“Oh, arrest that man! He wronged me and kid- 
napped my child — my darling child ! Take him away to 
prison ! Oh, don’t let him escape ! Oh, my lovely little 
pet, jewel, they stole you! Take him away! I will 
take possession of everything here.” 


ARRIVAL OF MRS. RAND 169 

''No, you will not exclaimed Jean, who, until now, 
was a silent witness of the scene. 

"Who are you?” exclaimed Mabel’s mother. "Oh, 
could I have believed it then ! O officer, take this woman 
too ! She told me a fat, black-eyed woman would steal 
my husband — and it was herself. Oh, take her away 
too — away, away! Oh, my darling child! Little 
angel !” 

"What have you to say, madam?” inquired the 
officer, turning to Jean. 

"The furnishings and everything, both in and out 
of doors in this establishment, belong to me person- 
ally,” replied Jean. 

"I am sorry,” said the officer, "but 1 guess you 
will have to go with us to clear up this matter.” 

"Yes ; arrest her, officer !” exclaimed Mabel’s mother. 

"No, madam, we have no authority to arrest anyone 
save your husband,” replied the officer. "This lady 
will merely accompany us to have a better understand- 
ing regarding whose ownership is right.” 

Never did officers of the law take prisoners more 
against their will, for the generosity of Winston Rand 
and Jean had traveled far and wide. And who but 
could say they were good citizens, always among the 
first to respond to whatever cause called for help, 
financially or otherwise? So, reluctantly, the officers, 
forced to do their duty, led them away, followed by 
Mabel’s mother. 

No plausible charge was preferred against Jean. 
But Mrs. Rand insisted on her being detained until the 


170 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


following morning, while Winston Rand was led off to 
a cell. 

The district attorney, having private apartments in 
the building and seeing it was too late to act in Jean’s 
behalf, placed these apartments at her disposal until 
morning, rather than see her occupy a cell, as he knew 
she had always been kind to other people in trouble. 

Mrs. Rand could hardly wait to return to the house, 
as she intended to inspect everything therein. From 
one room to another she sailed with the air of “I am 
lord of all I survey.” 

Two small rooms in the rear, upstairs, over the 
dining-room, were occupied by Jean’s two children — 
Edna and Armond. They were fast asleep, and knew 
nothing of the turmoil and tumult below until Mrs. 
Rand rushed into the room, lighting the gas 
and suddenly awakening the children out of a sound 
sleep. Close at her heels walked William, the faithful 
coachman — a man well preserved, in his forties, of fine 
physical appearance. He had seen better days, but 
misfortune had tried him as now it was trying Jean 
and Winston Rand. He had passed through the 
crucible and fire of experience that makes one worthy 
of confidence from others. He had promised Jean, 
the last thing as she was leaving the house, that he 
would look after her belongings and see that no harm 
befell her children until she gave him further orders. 

''Are these your children?” inquired Mrs. Rand, as 
two sleepy-looking youngsters peered at her as she lit 
the gas. 


ARRIVAL OF MRS. RAND 


171 

“No, madam!” replied William; “these are the 
madam’s children.” 

“What ! That woman’s children ?” cried Mrs. Rand. 
Merciful heaven! I did not know she had children.” 
And for the first time her haughty manner changed. 
The mother-heart, akin the world over, awoke to feel- 
ings of sympathy for these helpless children, if nothing 
else, as they sat up in bed crying and begging : 

“O William, tell mamma to come here! Mamma! 
Boo-hoo, mamma! mamma!” cried little Armond and 
Edna. 

“Oh, I would not have given her this trouble had 
I dreamt she, too, was a mother and had these little 
ones !” 

By this time it dawned on the children that some- 
thing must be wrong, as their mamma never was so 
long coming before. Sitting up in bed, trembling and 
crying as though their little hearts would break, the 
very tears changed the whole tenor of Mabel’s mother. 
She, too, cried, as she held Mabel on her lap, plac- 
ing one arm around Edna and Armond. 

“You poor, little innocent things! Don’t cry!” she 
pleaded, while the big tears ran down hers and Mabel’s 
face like rain. “Don’t cry, dear little ones ! I will try 
and bring your mamma back to you. She will be back. 
Now, don’t cry! Oh, not for anything would I have 
caused you poor little things this suffering! You are 
punished more than the real offenders. That’s good 
children, don’t cry !” 

“Where is my mamma?” asked Edna, between her 
sob$. 


172 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


“Boo-hoo! William, bring my mamma back!” 
cried little Armond, raising his little head and looking 
with oh, such an appeal into Mrs. Rand’s face while 
his little teeth chattered! 

“Yes, dear! Don’t cry!” replied Mrs. Rand. The 
scene was too much for her. She turned, leaving the 
room with Mabel, only to encounter William in the 
hall, his head bowed in tears as he heard the pitiful 
cry of those innocent children appealing to him with- 
out being able to help them. 

“I care not how much those grown people suffer,” 
said Mrs. Rand; “but not for one hundred dollars 
would I have caused those little ones to suffer like 
this. I will never forget their pleading looks; they 
will haunt me to my dying day. That boy’s big blue 
eyes will never leave my memory,” continued Mrs. 
Rand, wiping a big tear from her eyes as she walked 
through the hall. 

Next morning William was up bright and early. 
Not that he slept, for neither he nor the two children 
slept at all. If he did doze at all, he was suddenly 
reminded of the previous day’s drama by either Edna 
or Armond pulling at his coat sleeve to inquire : 

“William, will my mamma be back to-morrow?’’ 
or, “Can I go to see my mamma?” 

He could not count the number of times he had 
heard these questions during the night and wee hours 
of morning. 

The negro cook got balky, declaring the sight of a 
policeman in the house where she was employed 
reflected dishonor on her if she remained another day. 


ARRIVAL OF MRS. RAND 


m 


And having to leave so suddenly, without her rightful 
week’s warning, she would have to collect an extra 
week’s wages. 

‘‘You can leave any time you like,” replied William ; 
“and your money is ready.” 

“Yes; but my extra week’s wages I must have,” 
responded the cook. 

“You can have that, and welcome,” answered 
William. “I have got money to pay you. I am not 
afraid to advance enough to pay you off. It is worth 
four dollars to rid the house of your kind.” 

Paying no more attention to her, William 
went on his own way of attending to what- 
ever had to be done. It must be stated, fortunately 
William was a good cook. He fried chicken and 
cooked hot biscuits. When he had a goodly, tempting 
lunch prepared he washed and dressed little Armond 
and Edna, and, waiting a note, sent them with the 
dainty breakfast down to the public building, where 
their mother was. 

How delighted they were only those who under- 
stand the wonderful trusting heart of a little child can, 
under similar circumstances, realize the joy it gave 
them to see their own dear mamma after a night of 
wakeful unrest. Jean, too, was overjoyed to see her 
little ones. And oh, how much she appreciated the 
thoughtfulness of William to cook her such a nice 
breakfast, whether she had appetite to enjoy it or not ! 

Jean gave Edna two dollars to buy herself 
and Armond candy on their way home. But, 
poor little frightened things! no doubt the immense 


174 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


public buildings they had so often pranced by at will 
when out walking, now the interior, with its severe- 
looking offices and grave-faced attendants, perhaps 
all this frightened them too much to stop anywhere, 
but do as William instructed — “Go and come straight 
back home ; talk to no one.’’ When Edna and 
Armond walked in the side yard their little eyes bulged 
out again with fright at the sight of a big policeman 
talking to Maggie, the cook, and their brother Ralph. 
Trouble never comes singlehanded. 

Ralph had thought to play a joke on the cook by 
hiding her pompadour wig. Some neighbor boys 
suggested the idea of the chimney being the best hiding 
place, whereupon Ralph climbed up on the roof and 
placed the black pompadour on top of the chimney. 
He had scarcely turned his back to come down ere a 
puff of wind blew the pompadour into the chimney, 
where, of course, it was destroyed, and the odor of 
burning hair pervaded the air for blocks. The cook 
came to the door, wondering where that hair was 
burning. 

“Your pompadour blew into the chimney, Maggie,” 
exclaimed one of the boys. 

“Well, some ob yo’ boys done put it in de chimney ; 
’cause why, how else would it git dar?” responded 
Maggie, showing temper. “Now, which one done it? 
Yo’ might as well tell, fo’ I’se goin’ to git de police- 
man and, one happening to pass just at that moment, 
she called him in. 

“It was Ralph!” shouted the O’Sully boys, as the 
policeman came up. 


ARRIVAL OF MRS. RAND 


175 


“Well, what is the trouble now?’' he asked. 

“I’se wants yo’ to arrest dese boys ; dey done frow'd 
my pomp’dour down de chimney; it am done burned 
up.” 

“How much was your pompadour?” inquired the 
officer. 

“Two dollars!” exclaimed the cook; “an’ I’se won’t 
take one cent less; ’cause why, it wa’ imported.” 

“Well, Ralph, how much chink have you to settle 
for a pompadour?” smiled the officer. “Do you think 
you can stand the price for a new one this morn- 
ing?” 

“I haven’t got that much with me this morning, 
officer,” said Ralph, never once turning traitor on the 
boys who stood around, and who were as deep in the 
mire of destroying the pompadour as himself. They 
were all in for the joke; but Ralph had to shoulder 
the blame. 

“Well, if yo’ got no money, yo’ go to jail!” shouted 
the cook, much enraged. 

It was at this moment of the discussion that little 
Edna and Armond walked up, and, hearing Maggie 
tell the policeman to take Ralph away, this was too 
much. Armond cried and Edna cried. Then suddenly 
Edna thought about the candy money. Reaching 
down in her little pocket, Edna produced the two dollar 
bill and slipped it in the big policeman’s hand to pay 
the cook. This calmed her wrath, and William lost 
no time in paying her off, including the extra week, to 
rid the house of her like. 

On the right-hand side of the Comstock homestead 


176 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


lived an Irish widow and her six children ; on the left, 
a large Jewish family. 

Mrs. O’Sully, the widow, kept boarders. And a 
hard pull it was, too ; six children to feed, clothe, shod 
and school. 

The Rands kept a cow for their own private use. 
But having more milk and butter than they could use 
or really knew what to do with, they decided Mrs. 
O’Sully, the widow, needed all the help she could get 
to make ends meet. So the over-supply was given her 
gratis. Like the Slocums, Jean knew the widow 
O’Sully could use everything in that line very profit- 
ably where there were boarders. 

From the time the new-comers leased the Comstock 
place, Mrs. O’Sully never paid a milk or butter bill. 
While Winston Rand and Jean possessed some peculiar 
traits, that was one of their ways of being neighborly. 
And if all the “God-bless-you !” ‘‘God-bless-you !” 
exclamations from Mrs. O’Sully had turned to dollars, 
Jean would never have had to concern herself more 
about business. But alas, hnuman nature ! How vers- 
atile, shifting and changing the scenes in a surprising 
manner ofttimes ! Ah, yes ! Pray, lift the veil and let 
mine eyes see the light, and learn, O Life, of thee. As 
a little child seeking knowledge, teach thou me. Thy 
panoramic views stretch from the cradle to the grave. 
The mind is ever reaching out and searching for the 
new. To the restless, imaginative mind sometimes the 
scenes seem to lag. But not so. Fast or slow, the pen- 
dulum is ever swinging in the great school-room of 
life ; and one by one, and two by two, the 


ARRIVAL OF MRS. RAND 


177 


pupils pass out, and join the ranks in the great realm 
of eternity. 

When the little difficulties came to the inmates of the 
Comstock place, Mrs. O’Sully was the first neighbor 
to positively refuse any member of that establishment 
admittance to her house, or even to serve the children 
their meals for pay, claiming she was mortally dis- 
graced enough in having such neighbors near her. So 
her doors and windows were barred against them, as 
though leprosy had suddenly appeared. Never once 
had the Jewish family received a pint of milk, or a 
pound of butter. They, of course, being in good cir- 
cumstances themselves, had all those things at home. 
A hundred-and-fifty-foot lawn divided them from the 
Comstock property. 

When they saw the dark cloud over their neighbor’s 
house, they were the first to offer assistance, by sending 
for the children and William to come over and take 
their meals with them. Ah, how plainly one discerns 
the good Samaritan in either Jew, Gentile or Christian ! 
The' golden rule lived, not merely preached. William 
being in full charge of the house and children, cour- 
teously declined, and, thanking them very kindly in 
behalf of the family, assured them that he would 
be very grateful to accept their kindness should the 
children need anything. 

The next evening, about 9 o’clock, Mrs. Rand re- 
turned with two moving vans and eight men to clear 
the house. William answered the door bell. Mrs. 
Rand, with a wild flourish of her hand, ordered the 
men to carry out everything. 


178 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


But William showed he was still at the helm, being 
too quick for their move of attempting to brush him 
aside. Placing himself right in the doorway, with 
both arms stretched out, he exclaimed, “Not one step 
further! Show your right, and by whose permission 
you have the authority to enter this house and strip it 
of its belongings.” 

“The right I” cried Mrs. Rand, much excited. “Why, 
fool, man! Pm that man’s legal wife! Who has a 
better right here ? How dare you talk to me — the real, 
genuine, legal wife — in that manner?” 

“There are other parties having some claims and 
rights in this house, madam,” retorted William, calmly, 
never moving from his position. 

“You are a dummy regarding law. No one has any 
legal rights but a wife! And I am that one. Enter 
the house, please, and remove everything,” commanded 
Mrs. Rand again, wildly flourishing her hand toward 
the eight men standing around. 

“Not one stick shall you move,” replied William, 
“under any condition.” 

“Who are you, anyway, claiming so much author- 
ity?” inquired Mrs. Rand, greatly enraged. “Why, if 
I was a man and had a pistol I’d blow your head off. 
I say I am going to remove this furniture.” 

“Only over my dead body,” calmly spoke William. 

“See here, lady,” interrupted the colored driver, 
“dese people wa’ pretty good customers ob mine afore 
yo’ upset everything. If dar goin’ to be any shootin’ 
’fray, me an’ my men am goin’ to leave. An’ we has to 
hab extra pay, lady, for dis outin’ in de night, ’cause 


ARRIVAL OF MRS, RAND 


179 


our horses an’ men done ought to be sleepin’. You’s 
nebber mention ’bout any shootin’ an’ disturbances 
bein’ ’liable. It am very perceivable dat a lawyer am 
more necessary for de distribution ob de defugalities 
dan a movin’ van. A special order, lady,” continued 
the colored driver; ‘‘we’ll hab to trouble yo’ fo’ our 
pay.” 

“Never mind the pay!” retorted Mrs. Rand. “I 
expect to turn the contents of this house into money 
to pay my expenses. I’ll go right down and have my 
lawyer come up and settle this ownership, and clear 
the house. I am the only one entitled to rights here,” 
remarked Mrs. Rand, snapping her fingers in William’s 
face, as he closed the door, leaving her to settle the 
moving question with the men. 

William never closed his eyes, keeping a faithful 
watch for the return of the disturbers. But nothing 
further disturbed the peace of the night. 

Next morning things began to buzz and hum early. 
Mrs. Rand marched up with two officers and her law- 
yer, to take possession ; at least try to. 

They found William as unchangeable as the laws of 
the Medes and Persians. No money could tempt him 
to betray the confidence intrusted to him, especially at 
such an hour. 

“See here,” remarked the lawyer aside, “we’ve got 
a hundred dollars for you in cash, right now. What’s 
it to you who gets this plunder, or where it goes ? Be- 
sides, I’ve got a pretty good place in view. I can 
recommend you there at once if ” 

“Stop ! stop, sir, right there I The State prisons are 


i8o 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


full of your kind, and some who are better. I am in 
charge of this house, and the contents belong to me 
while in my care,” proudly responded William. 

‘‘These children,” spoke the lawyer, “will be put in 
charge of the city.” 

“Not one finger shall the city or anyone else lay on 
these children. They, too, are in my charge,” said 
William. 

After loitering around fully an hour, talking and 
consulting, and going down to see Winston Rand, the 
lawyers returned, saying, “Things look gloomy.” 

“What’s the news ?” hastily inquired Mrs. Rand. 

“Am sorry to state, Mrs. Rand,” replied her lawyer, 
“the verdict seems against us. Everything in the 
house, barn, live stock, even money in the bank, be- 
longs to Mrs. Nash, personally. Winston Rand hasn’t 
a dollar to help himself, unless she sees fit to give it 
to him.” 

“Fool! fool!” exclaimed Mrs. Rand, walking the 
floor. “To let a woman own him body and soul !” 

“Well,” continued her lawyer, “I understand she is 
the principal spoke in the business; in other words, 
she has the education. What little he knows, she has 
taught him. I should judge, trying to teach a man 
his A, B, C’s, was no easy task. And he told me him- 
self he could not write a line when he met her.” 

“I know he had no education,” replied Mrs. Rand. 
“But he’s a capital financier. He is a man who always 
made plenty of money. And I’m going to get it. This 
is all a trick, being played to euchre me and my darling 
out. But we will see ! we will see !” 


ARRIVAL OF MRS, RAND 


i8i 


It was late in the afternoon, when the judge ordered 
the release of Mrs. Nash. Mrs. Rand was in high 
glee over one thing. If she could not get the contents 
of the house, she had, at least, succeeded in breaking 
up their home. And sudden sales, now, of the horses, 
carriages, and other stock meant a sacrifice and great 
loss. 

Not so ; these people had friends, and, as the French 
say, quelque chose malheur est bon.” Dr. New- 
bury, the veterinary surgeon, was on hand bright and 
early, almost as soon as Jean reached the house. He 
ofifered to buy all the live stock and barn contents at 
her own price. This was a secret closely guarded, as 
others who came to buy were told there was nothing 
to sell. 

About 10 p. m. the beautiful span of horses was har- 
nessed to the double carriage, and William was the 
driver. A woman, heavily veiled, accompanied by 
two children, got in and drove about six blocks, where 
the carriage stopped, and two men walked rapidly up 
to the carriage. One stepped in, seating himself be- 
side the driver, and saying, as he shook hands with 
his companion, “Good-bye, my friend. You will hear 
from us in a week or two.’^ 

“Good-bye,’^ responded the man, who was no other 
than Dr. Newbury. As the last sound of the carriage 
died away, he walked off in a thoughtful mood toward 
his own home. 

It was Dr. Newbury, who made a public speech in 
the court building, defending Winston Rand and Jean, 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


182 

and denouncing the whole affair as a piece of blackmail 
to extort money. 

All night they drove along beautiful country drives, 
until the State line was reached. It was a perfect 
night. The moon shone brightly, almost equaling the 
light of day — perfect indeed, as though ordered for 
the occasion. Mile after mile they traveled over one 
of the finest roads, here and there curving round a 
mountain bend, then crossing a rustic bridge, or ford- 
ing small streams, and now alongside the tracks 
of the Grand Trunk lines, where now and then 
a train shot past like an arrow, changing the 
monotony of the long drive. Arriving at a small 
country roadhouse, just at daybreak, all stopped 
for breakfast. On learning the entire party 
could be accommodated as long as they cared to stay, 
arrangements were accordingly made for an indefinite 
time. 

William remained all day and one night, in order to 
rest his horses, then reluctantly bade all good-bye, and 
turned the horses’ heads back toward ‘"Orlando,” 
facing their future home and owner. Dr. Newbury, 
who had not only purchased the live stock and barn 
contents, but had hired faithful William as his coach- 
man. 

Winston Rand, Jean and her two children were now 
rusticating far from the scene of the past week’s dis- 
turbance — far out in the country, with nothing but 
long walks to break the monotony. The children were 
kept strictly to themselves, hardly allowed to look at 
any one, and under no consideration permitted to mix 


ARRIVAL OF MRS. RAND 


183 


in any way, shape or form with the innkeeper’s chil- 
dren, who stood off, gazing in wonder at the five stran- 
gers, as though some special performance was ex- 
pected from each one. Here, away in the woods, ten 
miles from the nearest railroad station — what a con- 
trast to the busy life Winston Rand and Jean had 
lived ! They could not content themselves longer than 
two weeks, so took their departure for Toronto, Can- 
ada. Jean found traveling around with two children, 
stopping in hotels, was rather too expensive, especially 
after the enormous outlay of the past six weeks. There 
was but one course to pursue, and that was, to place 
the children in school. It was during vacation time, 
but they would receive better care, and it would be far 
cheaper than in hotels. 

Everything being in confusion, no thought was 
given to clothes, style, or how things fit, when the 
carriage drove out of Orlando and pursued its moon- 
lit course over the State line. Everything had been 
stored away. Funds were getting pretty low, owing to 
the sudden demand for ready cash in hotels, railroads 
and other public places. 

Edna was now nine years of age, and was placed in 
a convent boarding school. It took her some time to 
grow accustomed to the way of doing nothing but 
amuse oneself, since in the home she was made to 
work. Some of the children laughed at her dress, as 
she walked out among them the first day, wearing 
“candy-stick” stockings and carpet slippers, and a 
homely striped dress, cut on the bias — in reality a 


184 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


worse looking valentine than any immigrant could ever 
hope not to look like. 

Poor little Edna! She was blessed with a sweet 
disposition, and if her little heart, with all the scenes 
she had already passed through, felt crushed 
by the remarks and laughter of the other little girls 
better off in dress, she said nothing. The trials she 
had suffered of late seemed suddenly to lift her above 
small things; in fact, with all her “funny dress” (as 
some of the children termed it) every inmate saw 
beneath the exterior garb a character worth cultivating 
— one commanding respect. Suddenly, as if by magic, 
the children forgot the dress, forgot to laugh. They 
saw only the little girl in their midst,and knew they 
liked her for herself alone. And on learning she could 
outshine them all in dressing dolls, though she owned 
none, they were positive their love for her was genu- 
ine. They flocked around her with their boxes filled 
with doll rags, to help them out. 

“Oh I you mustn’t work here,” exclaimed one little 
girl, as Edna went for the broom to brush up the doll 
scraps. “This is a very fashionable boarding school, 
and it is vacation. We don’t do anything but play 
now, and study old, dull, commonplace things when 
school opens in September. Oh, dear! how nice it 
would be if we always had vacation.” 


CHAPTER XVL 


HOW ROBERT NASH SPENT TEN YEARS. 

R obert Nash having left his wife and children to go 
elsewhere in search of better business prospects, 
we will turn back a few pages and see how well he 
succeeded, and how greatly his family was benefited 
by his clever experience. 

He had just time to purchase a ticket for Jesup, 
and had not been aboard the train long when it made 
its first stop at a small station. There was nothing 
about the place to indicate business of any kind : a 
few lazy-looking, half-clad “pickaninnies,’’ too sleepy- 
looking to open their eyes wide enough to even notice 
the train. Four passengers — three men and one 
woman, heavily veiled — got on just as the last whistle 
blew. The car was not crowded, but the woman, 
in an unceremonious manner, sat down beside Robert 
Nash. He did not speak, nor did she take particular 
notice of him. The conductor, when collecting tickets, 
looked at the woman, then at the man, for he noticed 
her ticket also read Jesup. 

The old “Side Wing” was a monotonous road to 
travel on at best, with its one passenger coach and 
engine, with part of the coach divided for baggage and 
mail, and the rick-rack rails — well, we’ll not describe 
them. If you reach your destination without having 
your eyes knocked out entirely by flying cinders the 
size of walnuts congratulate yourself as being born 
for luck. 


i86 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


The travel was unusually heavy on this trip and the 
variety truly noticeable. For want of better occupa- 
tion, we will look around and see who is who. Across 
the aisle is a boy with a dog in a basket, and on his 
coat sleeve a tag, reading, “Havana.” Directly back of 
him is a young couple thoroughly engrossed in them- 
selves, regardless of the fact that public places are 
the least suitable to “spoon” in, and at times they made 
themselves positively ludicrous. 

“No doubt, a real bride and groom,” snorted a fat 
Dutchman to his companion, who also watched the 
couple with keen interest. 

“Yah ! yah ! much displayed contention,” replied his 
companion. 

“Och! you mean attention,” corrected his friend. 
“Dot contention vill be round on de next trip if dings 
go not rightly right.” 

“Oh, yah ! yah ! dat was mine misdake on dat right 
vord in de wrong blace,” and they both laughed so 
heartily all turned to look in the direction of the two 
Dutchmen, who apparently seemed the only ones 
aboard the train who found life worth the living. 

A very young-looking woman with two children 
turned around so suddenly when the Dutchmen 
laughed aloud, that one of her chubby youngsters took 
a tumble out into the aisle, and for the next twenty 
minutes gave a free concert, much to the annoyance 
of the young mother. 

Through all the commotion, Robert Nash nor the 
heavily veiled woman turned neither to the right 
nor left ; they seemed thoroughly lost in thought. 


HOW NASH SPENT TEN YEARS 187 


It is not possible to describe the woman’s face owing 
to the heavy veil. In stature she is rather tall, and 
would weigh possibly two hundred pounds. 

Ah! she turns her head, and from beneath her veil 
there peeps a vivid red lock. More at present we 
cannot learn. 

The young mother, with her two children, on their 
way to Cuba, had just opened a neat little basket 
containing a lunch. The children seemed hungry, 
hungry as children get when traveling, and from 
appearances they were enjoying the biscuits and jam, 
distributing a goodly share over their faces. Two 
little ^‘pickaninnies” looked on with such eager longing 
that the mother responded to their looks by giving 
each a sandwich, which caused their eyes to dilate 
twice their natural size, and their pearly teeth to show 
like a white-washed fence on a moonlight night. 

“Och ! mine gracious !” exclaimed one of the Dutch- 
men, looking around and seeing the children eating. 

“Och I Yacob, I nearly did forget mine ‘abbetite.’ I 
haf it in mine ‘zatchel.’ Just vait once.” And, pulling 
out a huge old-fashioned carpet-bag from beneath the 
seat, the two began to dive into the contents unmindful 
of all else. There were pretzels, bologna, pickles, 
crackers and 

“Be jabers!” shouted an Irishman, who up to this 
time had been holding his nose and looking at every 
occupant in the sleeping car in disgust. He continued : 
“Whew ! Open the windows and let some oxygen in I” 

“Is there anything wrong?” inquired the conductor, 
on entering the car. 


i88 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


'‘Is there anything right about a car filled with germ 
fumes?” replied the Irishman. ^‘The next thing I’ll 
have the blasted microbe on me. It’s a detriment to 
me health and constitution. I’ll sue the railroad for 
carrying malignant odors. There’s microbe miasma 
aboard this car, and plenty of it, or my name is not 
Denis!” 

It was not necessary for the conductor to proceed 
far before learning the cause. The two Dutchmen, 
apparently ignorant of any disturbance, were enjoying 
with the keenest relish their lunch, in which was a 
goodly share of ‘‘Limburger” cheese. They did not 
see the conductor until he reached the seat they occu- 
pied. Looking up they were much surprised to see 
him holding his nose, as he informed them they would 
either have to throw that satchel and contents out of 
the window or eat their lunch in the woods at the 
next stopping place. 

‘^You have got the car smelling so strong of that 
rotten cheese it will require a week to fumigate it.” 

“Bedad!” chimed in the Irishman, ‘‘put the dirty 
boogers out. They are not fit to travel with decent 
people.” 

“I will attend to this car, sir!” replied the conduc- 
tor, waving the Irishman back to his seat. 

“You will have to throw that cheese out of the 
window,” continued the conductor, as he turned to 
leave the car. 

“Yah, Fritz!” said Jacob, “ve haf got to trow dot 
cheese away.” 

“Veil,” answered Jacob, “I vill haf to trow mine 


HOW NASH SPENT TEN YEARS 189 


self away, den, for mine cheese am already inside under 
mine vest.’' 

“Ha, ha! Yah, mine too,” replied Fritz. “Oh, veil, 
ve stop at de next blace once and get a glass of lager 
and more bretzels to vash dot goot cheese down out 
of sight and hearing.” 

“Yah ! yah ! ve do dot,” replied his companion. “Ve 
haf blenty time. De train alvays stops long vile for 
to make repairs and get its breath.” 

“Jesup! Jesup!” shouted the brakeman. “All out 
for Jesup!” 

The two pickaninnies, the Irishman, the veiled 
woman and another man got off. As the train pulled 
out the veiled woman and a man stood talking, deeply 
interested. 

“What are you going to do?” inquired the man. 

“Do!” exclaimed the woman, much excited, “why, 
you are going to get a place — a house to live in and 
support me, of course. What else do you think you 
are going to do?” 

“Why, woman, I can’t marry you!” responded the 
man; “I have got a wife and family!” 

“What do I care about your wife and family? 
What did you care, even while I was nursing her with 
your last child?” exclaimed Mary McGinty, for she it 
was. 

“You lived the double life right under her very 
eyes, yet she was too young and green to even sus- 
pect such a state of affairs. Now, do you think for 
a moment you are going to leave me on the world 


190 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


in this condition? You will find, Bob Nash, I am not 
the easy, good-hearted mark she was !” 

‘‘Why, good gracious, woman ! how can I marry 
you? I have got a wife and family,’’ interrupted Bob 
Nash, much agitated. 

“It doesn’t make any difference to me about your 
cant’s or cans,” retorted the woman; “you are the 
father of my unborn child, and you will not only 
support me, but my child. So from now on, unless 
you want more trouble than you ever dreamed of, 
you may proceed to introduce me as your wife, and 
get to work making a living for me!” 

“My God, woman! what do you mean?” exclaimed 
the man. 

“I mean just what I say,” retorted the woman. 

With his head bowed in thought, Robert Nash saw 
no way of escape from this awful entanglement. He 
realized, perhaps, for the first time, that he was in 
this woman’s clutches. If he defied her by returning 
to his wife and little ones, she would follow him and 
create such a disgraceful sensation that he never 
could reinstate himself again in that community, and 
would be compelled to leave anyway. 

Robert Nash had not the courage to do right toward 
his wronged wife and children. He had sinned against 
them time and again, and he was too cowardly to 
return with such a grave and startling accusation 
against him. He finally decided there was no alterna- 
tive but to let his helpless family drift as best they 
could and remain with this woman, in whose clutches 
he had blindly allowed himself to be ensnared. 


HOW NASH SPENT TEN YEARS 191 


Robert Nash never before concerned himself about 
any particular business. His father-in-law had a good 
home and plenty to eat, with “Welcome’’ stamped on 
everything. Why should he worry over such a small 
matter as supporting a family? 

But now it was very different. The scenes had 
changed. Robert Nash awoke from his life of indolent 
ease, and realized he had cast his lot with one who 
knew how to drive every energy in him straight to 
the working notch. 

“Come on!” commanded the woman; “we are not 
going to stand here forever.” 

Walking up to a small cottage, with a sign in the 
window, which read: “Board by the day or week,” 
the woman said, “That is what we want.” After 
ringing the bell and waiting fully five . minutes, an old 
man came to the door. 

“I am looking for board for myself and husband,” 
quickly spoke the woman, as though she feared Robert 
Nash might be a little backward in coming forward 
and introducing her properly. 

They remained in Jesup until the child was bom; 
then, traveling farther south, they took up a land grant, 
where they tilled the soil until they claimed ownership. 

Year after year a child was added to the family, 
which was now very large. 

Robert Nash had not written to his people in all 
this time. It was now ten years since he took up his 
abode in Key West. Never once had he communicated 
or heard from his children. Whether living or 
dead he knew no more about them than the dead. A 


192 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


longing came over him to hear from his home 
land. 

Thinking he could write now with perfect safety, 
after all these years, he did so. 

Making a general complaint of his hard lot with 
a large family to support and so little income for 
them, his father never failed to send him money when 
he wrote. But it had been so long since they had 
last heard from him. His sister received letters from 
home, inquiring about Robert, but she knew nothing 
about him, either. Her father and brother would often 
inquire as to what manner of country this was, since 
every time they heard from Robert he was having a 
hard time supporting his family. 

His sister, who had not heard from her brother 
in years, was delighted to hear he was still in the land 
of the living, and immediately wrote him a letter. She 
received an affectionate reply, with an invitation to 
visit him. 

Her Joy knew no bounds. The very thought of 
once more seeing her brother was enough to thoroughly 
rejuvenate her entire being. She hastened to make 
preparations for her journey with the view of spend- 
ing the winter South. 

“Oh, how happy I will be to see Robert again ! We 
will talk of old times and old friends, and the children 
and Jean. Oh, I can hardly wait for the steamer 
to sail!’* 

Thus would Christina’s (Robert’s sister) thoughts 
soar during the two weeks before she started. 

The steamer was filled with Northern people seek- 


HOW NASH SPENT TEN YEARS 193 


ing the Southern climate as a relief from the winter’s 
blast. Christina could think of nothing save the happi- 
ness awaiting her in her brother’s home. Everybody 
aboard the steamer, from the captain down, knew her 
story. 

“Oh, how slow the steamer sails!” she would tell 
the captain time and again, whereupon he would assure 
her he was running faster than usual for her special 
benefit. 

It was dark when Christina arrived in Kew West, 
and, on learning her brother lived four miles away, 
she went to her hotel and remained over night, sending 
word to her brother that she had arrived. 

All day, all night, and next day she waited patiently, 
but no brother came. He surely did not receive my 
message, thought Christina. Perhaps the children have 
the measles, and they are in quarantine. I will just 
hire a carriage and drive out and surprise them. 
Yes; that is what I will do. So stupid of me not to 
think of this at first ! I am not afraid of measles. 

Christina was up bright and early next morning, 
arranging with the proprietor for a vehicle of some 
description to take her two trunks and self, and no 
end of small packages and boxes containing presents 
for Robert, Jean and the children. 

“Are the roads good ?” inquired Christina of the boy 
driver as they started. 

“Pretty fair, mum; but don’t Wo! wo!” he 

exclaimed, as the wheel sank about three inches in 
mud. 

“Now, mind, boy, where you go. Be careful about 


194 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


such places/’ said Christina. “Keep your eyes open.” 

“Yes, mum,” answered the boy. “The road 
commis ” 

“Oh, my! You clumsy driver! Why, don’t you 
watch where you drive ! Why didn’t you see that big 
stone? Now, you watch!” said Christina, sternly. 

“Well, mum, we’ve had a right smart rain lately, 
and it has left our roads a bit upside down fur strang- 
ers to see,” answered the driver, making a brave effort 
to apologize for bad roads. 

“Oh, my ! What was that which ran over the road ?” 
shouted Christina, as the horse shied to one side. 

“Oh, that was nothing,” answered the boy, “but 
an alligator, mum; they’re as common as dirt around 
these parts. I hope yer ain’t scared, fur yer liable to 


“Oh, save me! There comes one along the fence! 
Drive fast, boy!” exclaimed Christina. “His mouth 
is large enough to swallow this horse, stage and con- 
tents. Oh, if I ever live to reach Robert’s home! 
Poor Robert would never rest if he knew I, his beloved 
sister, was in such danger! What do they live on? 
Do they ever hurt anybody ?” anxiously inquired 
Christina. 

“Hurt anybody! Well, I should say so! And you 
had better ask : What don’t they live on ? Why, mum, 
they’ve been known to enter houses, devour the family, 
furniture — in fact, everything laying around loose — 
then leave, feeling so hungry they’d swallow the hitch- 
ing post for dessert.” 

“Oh, goodness ! My poor brother !” cried Christina, 


HOW NASH SPENT TEN YEARS 195 


wringing her hands. “Doomed to forever live in such 
a wild country. I will advise him to move at once.'' 

“There's the house, mum," interrupted the driver, 
pointing his whip in the direction of a little one-story 
farm house, with its pine boards blistered almost black 
by the sun, the rosin glistening from every visible knot, 
and a ripple-shape mud chimney in the rear. 

“I'll just take yer baggage in, and be oif before 
feeding time," remarked the boy, driving the horse up 
to the old rickety-looking gate. 

Lifting the baggage out, he left Christina to get 
out, or fall out, as best she could, then drove off with- 
out further comment. 

Christina knocked at the door, which, by the way, 
rested against the door sill, instead of hanging on 
hinges, like other respectable doors. She waited for 
a few moments ere repeating the rap. 

“Oh, my! If the house should be empty! or, may 
be that horrid-looking alligator we saw has devoured 
all." 

Knocking again long and loud, brought a tall, fat, 
coarse-looking woman to the door. “What do you 
want?" she said. 

“Is this Mr. Robert Nash's house?" inquired Chris- 
tina, somewhat surprised at the woman's manner. 

“Yes," replied the woman, coldly. “Come in! Are 
you selling things for a living?" 

Walking in slowly, Christina thought: My, what a 
cool reception — only a cranky servant girl to meet me ! 
Perhaps Robert, Jean and the children are away, and 
did not receive my letter. She thinks I am a peddler. 


196 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


'‘Is Mr. Nash at home?’" she ventured to inquire, as 
she seated herself near a window. 

“Yes,”, again curtly replied the woman. 

My ! my ! thought Christina. How can my brother 
put up with such an indifferent servant ? “Are Jean and 
the children at home ?” inquired Christina, seeing there 
was no sign of the other woman saying anything. 

“I do not know whom you have reference to,” she 
blankly replied, taking a chair and drawing it near 
the open door, where stood a little red-haired, freckle- 
faced girl, looking shyly at Christina. 

“I mean Mrs. Nash — my brother’s wife, of course !” 
said Christina. 

“Mrs. Nash!” retorted the woman. “I am Mrs. 
Nash, if that is whom you mean.” 

“What! You my brother’s wife? Never!” replied 
Christina. “Oh, no! no! Where is my brother, Jean 
and their children ?” cried Christina, walking the floor. 
“Oh, my brother ! my brother ! Where is my brother ?” 

All day Christina waited patiently. But no brother 
came. 

“Where is my brother ?” she inquired of the woman, 
who seemed perfectly indifferent as to her presence. 

“I guess you will find him out in the wagon-house 
now,” she curtly replied. 

Out to the wagon-house Christina went, the way 
being led by the little red-haired, freckle-faced girl. 

“I will show you,” she said. “Here is my papa!” 
cried the child, as they entered the door. 

There her brother sat on a pile of wood, his head 
resting in his hands. 


HOW NASH SPENT TEN YEARS 197 


“My God, Robert! My brother! What has gone 
wrong in your life? Why didn’t you write me about 
all this? Where is Jean and the children? My God, 
Robert! where are your children?” exclaimed Chris- 
tina, thoroughly aroused. 

She stayed one night, and raised such a disturbance 
in trying to find some news regarding Jean and her 
brother’s children whom she had met on a previous 
visit. She could not be calmed. Next morning her 
brother took her to Tampa, where she boarded for a 
while. It was on this occasion that Robert Nash tried 
to offer some explanation regarding his much-tangled 
life, and how he unfortunately became entangled with 
the woman now claiming to be his wife. 

Christina was almost heartbroken. What a different 
reception to what she had planned all the way down! 
She had told all her friends ere leaving home that she 
would perhaps never return, but make her permanent 
home with her dear brother, Jean and the children. 
Now all was changed. She must not return at any 
cost until spring. What would her friends think? 
She never could explain all this “mix up” to her 
friends, which seemed to her like a horrible night- 
mare. And to allow her brother to pay her expenses, 
with all that houseful of children to support and a 
troublesome woman to contend with, was too much. 
No, thought Christina, I will not allow him to spend 
one cent on me. She began to form business ideas 
independently. 

“Anything to be independent of my brother.” 

She had some money, but preferred making more. 


198 


THE MYSTIC HHONE 


at least enough to pay her expenses while away. It 
seemed, with all the unfortunate circumstances sur- 
rounding her visit, the gods still smiled on her, for 
in the very cottage, where she boarded, the proprietor, 
a very delicate woman, was much in need of rest from 
her household duties. But where to find a trustworthy 
person — one she could entrust her house to without 
worrying how things were going on during her 
absence — seemed impossible. 

Now was Christina’s opportunity. She wished to be 
independent entirely of her brother, and Mrs. Patter- 
son wished to be independent of all care for a while. 
After Christina talked with Mrs. Patterson, explaining 
her position and offering her services as general 
manager of the cottage, the bargain was sealed, and 
everyone liked Christina. Mrs. Patterson did not 
intend letting a good opportunity of this kind pass 
by. 

After learning Christina was in full charge, of the 
cottage, the boarders all expressed their satisfaction in 
many ways by making her duties as light as possible, 
thinking she had out of a kind heart volunteered to 
relieve Mrs. Patterson for a while. 

Only once in a great while did Christina see her 
brother. They seemed to be drifting farther apart 
than ever. 

The spring was advancing, and one by one the winter 
resorts became deserted, and the guests once more 
turned their faces northward and homeward. This 
had a tendency to make Christina homesick, and she 
decided to go with the crowd before it got too late. 


HOW NASH SPENT TEN YEARS 199 


I will go to see Robert once more before I leave, 
thought Christina. It may be the last time, and I 
would like to part in peace and friendship with my 
brother. 

Robert Nash was always glad to see his sister; in 
fact, he would have liked to have seen her oftener. But 
fate had played such pranks in his life, the more he 
tried to rectify mistakes the worse they appeared. 

Christina persisted in looking upon Mary McGinty 
as the servant girl, refusing to recognize her in any 
other light. Seated in a small room near a table, 
Christina and her brother were apparently lost in deep 
thought. Finally, Christina, realizing her time was 
limited, looked in her brother’s face, remarking: 

^'Robert, wouldn’t you like to see your children ?” 

“Yes ! yes !” he responded in half-broken voice, never 
raising his head. “I cannot rest day or night, my 
dear sister.” 

Unfortunately Mary McGinty, presiding as Mrs. 
Nash, passed through the room just in time to over- 
hear Robert Nash remark that he was miserable over 
not seeing his children. She instantly flew in a rage, 
fighting like a wild tigress. Both Robert and his sister, 
with the pure instinct that “blood is thicker than 
water,” fought for the absent children until Robert 
Nash, knowing there was no alternative for him other 
than siding with the woman, into whose clutches he 
had fallen, and who was the mother of his eight chil- 
dren there, turned and ordered his sister from the 
house. This act so completely surprised Christina, 
she stood speechless for a few moments. 


200 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


''O Robert !” she cried, passing out of the room, “I 
will go, but remember, boy, your punishment is coming 
and will be greater than you can bear. The innocent 
voice of your children, adrift in the world, are crying 
out to God for revenge against you, and He will not 
forget their cause. It shall be written with a pen of 
iron and with the point of a diamond upon some heart 
in a language so strong that the voice will cry out 
for justice until their wrongs are righted. Remem- 
ber, my brother, revenge will be theirs. Their voice is 
ringing in your ear night and day. That is why, my 
poor brother, you cannot sleep or rest. No ; you will 
never rest again, for the %ages of sin is death.’ O 
my poor, blind brother ! You did not know the way 
of the transgressor was so hard. Good-bye! good- 
bye!” sobbed Christina as she passed out of the gate. 
She was too much overcome to ask her brother to 
drive her to the little country station, four miles away, 
but, heartbroken, plodded her way along the dusty 
road alone. Indeed, so preoccupied was her mind she 
forgot about the alligators she had seen on her first 
trip and the story the driver told regarding their mar- 
velous appetite. Her whole mind was absorbed in 
thought regarding the hapless condition in which she 
found her brother, and the absent wife and children — 
the only wife Christina could make up her mind to 
believe her brother was rightfully entitled to. 


CHAPTER XVIL 


JEAN HEARS IMPORTANT NEWS. 

W HEN Christina reached her home in the North, 
and related her remarkable experience to her 
nephew he was much enraged. And, knowing where 
Jean was, he wrote, inquiring if she had any idea where 
her husband, Robert Nash, was. In reply Jean stated 
she knew nothing about him, nor had she heard from 
him in ten years. 

‘Tf I knew,” she wrote, ‘T would see if he could 
not do something for his children.” 

In another letter Jean received the startling news 
already related by Christina. Jean, thinking Robert 
Nash ought to be made to feel some of the responsi- 
bility of his children regarding their education, at 
once consulted her lawyer, and he advised her, by 
all means, to urge upon their father the great import- 
ance of the children having educational advantages. 
Jean at once communicated this intelligence to Robert 
Nash. In reply he stated that he could do nothing 
for her or her children, as he had a large family to 
support. 

Jean immediately sought her lawyer’s advice upon 
the receipt of this letter. After reading its contents 
Lawyer Osborn laughed heartily. 

“Ah ! A noble father, indeed ! Can do nothing for 
his own lawful children, since a houseful of ‘illegiti- 
mates’ claim his attention. Hum! I will just frame 


202 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


a letter to suit his case, at the same time gently impress 
upon his mind a few little points in law he has most 
undoubtedly overlooked/’ 

“Robert Nash, Esq. : 

“Sir — I am in receipt of a letter from you, dated 

July , addressed to your legal wife, Mrs. Jean 

Nash. After ten years of silence, in which she has 
never received a line from you, neither received an 
ounce of support for herself or children from you, 
her legal husband and father of her children, I must 
remind you that since no divorce was obtained on 
either side, you are still the legal husband of Jean 
Nash, until released by the law. That is a knot you 
will learn, if you do not already know, cannot be untied 
at will outside of the United States courts. I must 
impress you also with the fact that your own letter 
before me proclaims you a bigamist, and, of course, 
you understand we have strenuous laws regarding 
same this side of Utah. I think Mrs. Nash’s request 
regarding your shouldering some of the responsibilities 
of educating your legal children, especially since she 
has cared for them alone up to the present time, but a 
just one. Still, with all its justice, you absolutely refuse 
this small and lenient request by an insulting letter 
to the effect that you cannot do anything for your 
legal children, having a large family there to support. 
With a legal wife here, what right or claim has another 
woman or her children on you ? None ! as you were 
never divorced, sir ! Any other marriage is void. Not 
only does this act proclaim you a bigamist, but you 


JEAN HEARS IMPORTANT NEWS 203 


have inflicted the stigma of no name upon the hapless 
heads of those unfortunate little children around you, 
who came not of their own will, but by the sin of your 
transgression. Your children by legal marriage are 
standing at the bar of justice, crying out to the law 
which sealed their right to claim your name honorably. 
They must, and will, ever receive the full protection 
of that law which legalized their rights at birth. These 
children, sir, must be educated ! What are you going 
to do? 

^'Awaiting your reply in this matter, 

‘T remain, 

'‘Lafayette Osborn, Attorney.” 

If Robert Nash ever in his life felt indignant, the 
letter Mrs. Nash next received did not indicate such. 
In the most pleading humility he begged her to be 
lenient with him, and not press the charge of bigamy 
against him. His family was large; his health poor; 
his purse empty. In fact, he could not do much to 
help himself. But if she would send the children to 
him he would try in some way to do for them and 
give them an education. “But, oh! don’t send me to 
prison. I am used to the open air, and such close, 
confined quarters and the poor fare would kill me.” 

Jean could not bear the thought of her children 
seeing their father sent to prison. That was revolting 
in itself. If left to her own decision, she preferred 
letting “bygones be bygones,” sweeping the past into 
oblivion. But her children — they must be protected. 
She sought her lawyer, and he, wise sage, advised 


204 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


immediate action on her part in pressing charges and 
taking everything from him — property, money, any- 
thing; she had first claim. 

“Oh, I cannot do that!” replied Jean. 

“Did he care whether you or his children lived or 
starved all these years?” retorted Lawyer Osborn, 
much excited. “Remember, in winter’s cold and sum- 
mer’s heat you have had to bear the burden alone of 
maintaining yourself and his children.” 

“Oh, they were my children, too. Lawyer Osborn!” 
replied Jean. “And if the burden was hard at times it 
was the labor of love.” 

“Well, Mrs. Nash, for your sake I trust it will not 
prove dove’s labor lost.’ But I am inclined to believe 
that Robert Nash is foxy. He knows your good heart 
of old, and to arouse your sympathy he is mustering 
up all the ills that flesh is heir to. I say press your 
charge ; punish the rascal !” said Lawyer Osborn. 

“Oh, I cannot. Lawyer Osborn! If he will only 
help his children and give them an education, I will 
get a divorce and say no more,” replied Jean. 

“Madam, pardon me !” interrupted Lawyer Osborn, 
with much dignity, “remember, in after years you will 
realize it is best to let the world know the truth in 
the start. It saves many embarrassing explanations 
later. But just as you say. The law is on your side, 
and I am here to serve you in my profession to the 
best advantage. I simply point out these facts for your 
benefit. You get a divorce! That cuts you out of 
property, should he possess anything.” 

“I will get a divorce,” quickly replied Jean. “Not 


JEAN HEARS IMPORTANT NEWS 205 


get a divorce from a man after all I know! Why, I 
would surely think I was one of the discarded nonenti- 
ties of Utah! Yes, indeed, I will get a divorce! But 
he must educate his children.” 

“Very well, Mrs. Nash. I will write him to that 
effect.” 

“Robert Nash, Esq.: 

“Sir — Mrs. Nash, while having full authority by 
law, as your legal wife, to punish you as a bigamist, 
has rather preferred getting a divorce. She will keep 
and educate one child, the little girl, but you must edu- 
cate the boys, giving them equally good advantages, 
otherwise she must punish you as you deserve. 

“Awaiting your reply, I remain, 

“Lafayette Osborn, Attorney.” 

Mrs. Nash received the following reply a few days 
later : 

“Dear Wife and Children — I will take all the children 
if you will send them here at your expense. Will try 
to give them all advantages. Don’t be too hard on me ! 
I will help them. I made my will, and all will share 
alike .” 

So Mrs. Nash sent the boys to their father. The girl 
was placed in school. 

Imagine the consternation and surprise among the 
neighbors when these children arrived ! Robert Nash 
was looked up to by his townspeople as an honorable 
citizen. No mention had ever been made regarding 
another set of children and the deserted wife. He 


2o6 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


wrote Lawyer Osborn that the sending of those chil- 
dren to him had disgraced him forever. He would 
never be able to answer the thousand and one ques- 
tions put to him each day by his neighbors and other 
citizens. 

“Ha ! ha ! ha !” laughed Lafayette Osborn. “Run off 
with another woman, leaving an honorable wife and 
family. Ha! ha! He ought to be disgraced worse 
than that. Posing in a community as respectable with 
a houseful of illegitimate children. Hum ! No dis- 
grace attached to that!” 

Ralph was too large, they considered, to send to 
school. He must have other advantages, such as work, 
to bring in money to help support the large family. 
Armond was not so large, but made a good “chore” 
boy when home from school. So between this, that 
and the other excuse he did not see inside of a school- 
room very often. At fifteen he was put on the rail- 
road to work. Another monthly check, though small, 
helped where the family was large. Ralph had traveled 
around considerably with his mother, met intelligent 
people, therefore could not feel at home among such 
degrading illiteracy, satisfied with a half-way lazy 
existence. After six months or less Ralph ran away, 
never communicating with any relative. 

Edna, now a bright girl of fourteen, was spending 
the winter in Washington with friends. 

Robert Nash was entitled to a pension, but never 
received one. He wrote the following note to Edna: 

“My dear Daughter — If you will go and see about 
my pension and work it up so I can get it, I will 


JEAN HEARS IMPORTANT NEWS 207 

give you that watch I have promised so long. Times 
are hard, and my family is large. I need my pension to 
help me out. And tell your mother Ralph ran away 
before I could give him all the advantages I promised ; 
and Armond needs new shoes, so he can go on with his 
schooling and advantages ” 

'‘Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Lawyer Osborn when Mrs. 
Nash gave him this letter. “Charming, indeed !” he 
remarked. “His family is large. Ha! ha! Your child 
can exert herself and spend her money looking up a 
pension to help that crowd, and receive for her labor 
a watch, which she could buy herself with the money 
spent running around looking up pension claims and 
lawyers. He seems a little dull of comprehension on 
the subject of lawyers. They are in the business for 
money. If he can send Edna a few hundred dollars to 
pay expenses, let her proceed, otherwise instruct her to 
drop the subject. And your boy cannot go to school 
unless you send him clothes and shoes. Ha ! ha ! The 
nerve of that man surpasseth my understanding. His 
nerves are all right. I see why he made a good soldier. 
He had nerve enough to be shot through a cannon and 
come out alive. Edna can look up the pension under 
these conditions, namely, that you receive half each 
month for your trouble and the years he gave you 
nothing.” 

Edna had not sufficient evidence or knowledge of the 
doctor’s whereabouts who had attended her father. 
She wrote to her aunt Christina about the matter, 
thinking they would know something about her father 
at that time, and was confronted with the startling 


208 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


news from the nephew that neither he nor his aunt 
would give any information whatever. Thus the sub- 
ject dropped until later on when the Pension Bureau 
took the matter up, after Robert Nash’s death, in 
which case, with all the information and facts ren- 
dered, Edna learned, three years after her father’s 
death, the woman living with Robert Nash and assum- 
ing to be his legal wife, not only succeeded in drawing 
the pension, but, having married again, was still 
defrauding the Government by continuing to draw the 
pension, and would, no doubt, continue doing so had 
not Edna gone straight to the Pension Bureau and 
reported the matter. The agent, having all facts and 
knowledge of the case previous, was much astonished 
to learn the woman had succeeded in getting a pension 
when it had been proved beyond a doubt that Robert 
Nash died leaving no widow. Mrs. Jean Nash had 
received a divorce under circumstances already men- 
tioned, and the second claimed marriage, if there ever 
was one, was void since Robert Nash was not free from 
the first wife at the time. 

'‘Well, I will tell you more startling news than that,” 
remarked Edna in her outspoken, girlish fashion. “She 
not only succeeded in getting the pension, sir, but 
married again, and is still drawing a pension as Robert 
Nash’s widow. She never was his wife, therefore 
never could be his widow.” 

And here ended the double life of one around whom, 
when the last call was sounded, his friends gathered, 
all unmindful of the tarnished record he left behind 
as a heritage to his children. But it was the last 


JEAN HEARS IMPORTANT NEWS 209 

‘"taps,” and over their erring brother the Masons 
breathed a last farewell, as one by one they filed in 
and bore his remains back to Mother Earth, while the 
drum slowly beat : 

Solemn strikes the vesper bell, 

Notes of our departing time. 

Armond, a boy now sixteen, felt after his father’s 
death there was nothing for him to gain by remain- 
ing in this forsaken hamlet. But how could he leave? 
There were debts innumerable which his father had 
left. Who was to meet them? Armond felt he was 
the oldest, and, despite his father’s faults, it was his 
duty to clear his name of debt. Armond knew not 
when he . would ever accomplish the task, but he 
started with a manly will to do his very best, and 
his' fellow citizens, recognizing his honest intentions, 
helped wherever they could by throwing business in 
his way; though, to be sure, opportunities in this 
small out-of-the-way place were very meagre. Scarcely 
a week passed without someone handing Armond a 
bill against his father. Two long years passed, and 
Armond felt he had about finished paying all debts, 
besides supporting the family. He decided to leave 
for more prosperous quarters, instead of remaining all 
his life supporting the woman and her nine children 
his father left. With the debts all paid they were left 
on a better footing now to help themselves. 

After receiving a letter from near relatives, Armond 
decided to go to them until better opportunities pre- 
sented themselves. He arrived at their home one Sun- 


210 


‘ THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


day morning. Imagine their surprise to see Armond, 
thin and worn, clad in a shabby suit of “gens.” The 
poor boy had worked night and day to clear his father’s 
name and support the family. 

“Why, Armond, have you no clothes?” inquired his 
cousin. “No trunk with you?” 

“Only what you see on me,” replied Armond. “I 
could not pay bills and buy clothes, too. So of the two 
evils, I preferred shabby clothes. But I hope to do 
better soon.” 

“O Armond, dear ! if you had only written to me, 
boy, you never would have remained there working 
so hard for those people, endangering your health. I 
will buy you some clothing as soon as the stores open 
to-morrow, and see what we can do for you. Of 
course your being out of school now will help a great 
deal in getting you a position.” 

“Why, cousin, I never went to school but two weeks 
all the time I was in Key West. I had to help father 
make money to support his family! That is why 
Ralph ran away. So now,” said Armond, “as far as 
schooling goes, I am completely handicapped; hardly 
able to write my name.” 

But Armond had energy, ambition and youth that 
yearns for better things. And with all the drawbacks 
which had confronted him he was anxious to show his 
relatives their kindness was appreciated by him. He 
applied to one of the large stores for work of any 
kind. Having nothing better in view, the proprietor 
started him running the elevator until he could learn 
just where to place him. It was in Armond to rise 


JEAN HEARS IMPORTANT NEWS 21 1 


above this position, if possible. The proprietor recog- 
nized this ambition, and liked it. In fact, he watched 
Armond for several days, unknown to anyone. There 
was something characteristic about the boy he liked. 
Within two weeks his position was changed to some- 
thing better, which enabled him to attend night school 
and gain a little more headway in schooling. Thus 
from one position to another, Armond rose to better 
things, as well as in the estimation of his employers. 
Unfortunately his, which was giving promise of such 
a bright career, was cut off by an illness which proved 
fatal. 


CHAPTER XVIIL 


JEAN AND WINSTON RAND DRIFT APART. 

B oth Winston Rand and Jean possessed the happy 
faculty of looking on the bright side of life. So, 
with a strong determination to rise out of the mist 
and clouds of the recent episode they had encountered, 
they established themselves in spacious quarters, 
owned a fine team, which sped the avenue each day, 
ofttimes resulting in having to forfeit five dollars for 
exceeding the speed limit. 

Winston Rand and Jean were now both free to 
marry. They decided if they remained in business 
together, it was best to marry, which they did. Every- 
thing loomed up prosperous again. But another dark 
cloud appeared. Winston Rand felt his inferiority 
of education seemingly more after marriage than 
before. At least it was evident something annoyed 
him greatly. He could not stand prosperity. He took 
to drinking. Little by little it grew on him, until at 
times he became like a roaring lion. He hated the 
very sight of Jean’s children. Ralph had not been 
heard of since leaving his father. No one knew 
whether he was living or dead. When a boy passed 
the house, bearing any resemblance at all to Ralph, 
Jean would quickly dispatch someone, or go herself 
to make sure it wasn’t Ralph. Winston Rand could 
not bear this devotion on the mother’s part toward her 
children, especially an absent one, who was, as Win- 
ston Rand claimed, big enough to care for himself. 


JEAN AND WINSTON DRIFT APART 213 


On such occasions Winston Rand would rush off, 
get staving drunk, return home, and try his hand 
at making kindling wood out of the furniture, or 
move the ‘‘sulky” and barn stuff up into the bath- 
room, declaring that was the proper place for his 
property; and there it would have to remain. When 
sobered up he was amazed to see the bath-room thus 
furnished, inquiring with all the authority possible, 

“What d fool brought my ‘sulky’ upstairs?” On 

other occasions he would purchase two tickets for the 
trip up the lakes, come driving like a wild man in a 
hired cab about a half hour before the boat started, 
order Mrs. Rand to pack the little steamer trunk in a 
jiffy and accompany him. The trunk was hurriedly 
packed, the driver placed it on the cab, and when 
Mrs. Rand stepped inside, and all was supposed 
to be in readiness to start, Winston Rand mounted 
the driver’s seat and gave the trunk a powerful kick 
that sent its contents flying all over the sidewalk, 
ordered Mrs. Rand out, drove off himself and remained 
two or three days at a time, then returned sheepishly, 
imploring forgiveness, declaring this was the last time 
he ever would get drunk. But alas! drunkards’ 
promises are like pie crust, they are easily broken. 

Time and again he repeated these “sprees,” each 
time growing worse and doing something so unheard 
of that the neighbors did not know really what would 
get into the man’s brain next. When sober he was 
kind, goodhearted and splendid company; paid his 
way promptly. Everybody liked him, and, unfortu- 
nately, every man, woman and child for blocks around 


214 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


knew him through the manner in which he advertised 
himself when drinking. He was drunk and didn’t 
care who knew it. 

A servant rarely remained longer than a month, 
as it was no unusual thing for Winston Rand to enter 
the dining room when everything was prepared and 
on the table ready for the family to sit down and enjoy 
the meal — entering, apparently, as meek as a lamb, 
taking his place at the head of the table, and, without 
'warning or apology, raising his foot and kicking 
the table over, breaking everything thereon. When 
sobered up next day he would march down to the 
china store and purchase the finest set of china in 
the place, regardless of the fact that it was just as 
liable as not to meet the same fate. It mattered not 
how expensive the article, if drink had the upper hand 
and he felt in a mood to break something it had to 
be broken, and was generally smashed to smithers in 
the twinkling of an eye. If Mrs. Rand wore a dress 
he did not fancy, it mattered not how much she cared 
for it, he would simply tear it off her back ; then feeling 
so foolish next day over his conduct he would go 
downtown when sober and buy her a dress of the 
most expensive material — black silk, or whatever took 
his fancy at the time. As for hats, if Mrs. Rand 
owned one not to his liking, it was nothing to see 
Winston Rand hang them on a tree in the backyard 
and shoot at them as target. .Anything cheap looking 
coming under his observation while intoxicated was 
doomed. If he ever thought of economy when sober. 


JEAN AND WINSTON DRIFT APART 215 

while drinking his imagination ran into the wildest 
extravagance. 

At last Mrs. Rand’s patience gave out. She had 
forgiven so often, only to see him grow worse each 
time, until Lawyer Osborn told her one day her efforts 
were useless. The timber wasn’t in the man to make 
the ideal man she pictured. 

“Mrs. Rand, patience ceases to be a virtue some- 
times,” said Lafayette Osborn. “If he insists on 
running after the bottle you had best let him run. 
Drink is making him worse each time.” 

Taking her lawyer’s advice, she was just preparing 
to leave town when Winston Rand appeared, all out 
of breath, imploring her to give him just one more 
chance, and take him with her wherever she went. 
Deeply moved, Mrs. Rand hardly knew what to do. 
There was no time now to consult Lawyer Osborn, 
or anyone else. She must decide herself. 

“Just one more trial !” pleaded Winston Rand. 
“Edna, dear,” he exclaimed, turning to Mrs. Rand’s 
daughter, who stood motionless awaiting her mother’s 
decision, “ask mamma to forgive me once more.” 

“I cannot ask her that,” replied Edna. “You have 
caused mamma so much unhappiness ; she must decide 
for herself. She knows what Lawyer Osborn advised.” 

Mrs. Rand arose and started for the train as the 
gates swung open. Edna followed. Winston Rand had 
drunk up all his available cash, otherwise he might 
have acted more independently. However, he boarded 
the train without money or ticket, and pleaded until 
Mrs. Rand gave him money to pay his fare. 


2i6 


THE MYSTIC 'PHONE 


When they reached their destination, Winston Rand 
— unfortunate man — forgot his promise and good reso- 
lutions the moment he spied a “grog” shop. Where- 
upon Mrs. Rand and Edna departed to another city, 
without informing him regarding their future inten- 
tions. 

After finding a reconciliation was impossible, Win- 
ston Rand drifted from bad to worse until he died as 
he had lived — his own worst enemy. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


CLARA LANGLEY MEETS RALSTON NEWBANKS. 

When breezes softly blow 
Across the bay at night, 

And distant lights like stars beam low, 

I listen to the echo of the waves 
Splash on the silvery sand so bright. 

I listen to the splash of oar, 

As gently, o’er the waters blue, 

Some fisherman, or tardy swain, returns. 

Relating daring ventures true. 

Ah! too, I listen for the tread of feet, 

That glided in and out at will; 

The voices sweet and low I ne’er may greet; 

The faces. I’ll remember still. 

B efore the day set for the “Langley versus Barnie” 
trial Barnie declared it was useless to bring up 
the case, as he positively would not break the silence 
he already maintained, in which his lips were sealed 
forever. He had no desire to bring the young lady 
into further notoriety. Depositing one hundred 
thousand dollars in the Shelbourne Bank to her credit, 
Carlton Barnie vanished out of sight. Detectives 
searched far and wide, but not a trace could be found 
of the man who only a few days ago walked through 
Shelbourne as though nothing had occurred to dis- 
turb his peace of mind. Even at his mines and in his 
office nothing had been heard from him for several 
weeks; in fact, the last news his manager received 


2i8 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


was that he would shortly visit his old home accom- 
panied by his bride. 

Clara Langley, still a beautiful woman — in fact, the 
sorrow she had undergone recently put a feeling and 
expression in her great brown eyes never there before, 
enhancing her beauty and making her more charming 
than ever; still she denied herself all intercourse with 
the outer world. 

It was again summer. Clara’s mother having died 
during the winter, she was now, indeed, alone. 
Seeking a rest and change of scene, she went to the 
little village of Coden, on the coast borders of Ala- 
bama. Here she could recuperate and still find enough 
amusement to divert her mind and keep things from 
growing too monotonous. If there was any one par- 
ticular characteristic about Clara Langley at all, it 
was regularity and order. She had acquired this while 
at boarding school, and could not well shake it off 
now. At 5 a. m. she was up and down on the beach 
enjoying her bath. After breakfast she enjoyed a 
drive, when not out sailing or fishing. Not infre- 
quently she would rise at 4 a. m. to join a fishing 
party for the day. 

The walks and beautiful drives along the shell road 
and bayou, with its many curves and bends, its banks 
edged with grand old trees, whose moss-laden 
branches touch the cooling water; the tall, majestic 
pines swaying to and fro as though peeping at their 
own shadow reflected in the bay. All this touched 
Clara Langley’s heart, drawing her nearer to nature, 
nearer to God. She had only though of life as a great 


CLARA MEETS RALSTON AGAIN 219 


social whirl-about, where each vied with the other 
for social supremacy. The natural charm of this little 
rustic village taught her that life was deeper and 
contained grander and nobler themes than her imagi- 
nation had ever pictured. 

Built up in health and spirit, Clara sailed on the 
Umbria for Europe to visit friends in a small town 
in the south of France. She had been there but three 
weeks when, to her utter astonishment, while out 
driving one afternoon, she accidentally met a gentle- 
man driving in an opposite direction with a party of 
friends. Bringing his horses to a sudden halt on the 
highway and raising his hat, with a gesture to Clara 
to stop a moment, he hastily inquired regarding her 
stay in France, and if he might be permitted to call, 
since he already had the pleasure of knowing her 
hostess and family. 

As we have previously stated, Clara denied herself 
all company. Next morning's post brought a letter 
for Clara from her old friend Ralston Newbanks, for 
he it was who had met her while out driving. The 
evening post brought a letter from his mother sojourn- 
ing in Paris awhile, entreating Clara to spend a fort- 
night with her, as she was wearied with strange faces 
and voices, and longed to greet one from her own 
native land and home. 

Clara had learned to love Mrs. Newbanks’ genial 
company at home, and she insisted so often on her 
coming that Clara could not refrain from accepting the 
invitation, especially since she and Ralston had become 
good friends again, and he was such an ardent wooer. 


220 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


Not once was the name of Barnie mentioned by either 
party. Ralston found the hours more agreeable and 
bright in Paris since Clara arrived than before. And 
Clara now not only believed Ralston really loved her, 
but knew her own heart was leaning strongly in his 
direction. All this she would acknowledge to herself 
in moments of reflective meditation. But not for the 
world must she allow Ralston to read the truth too 
soon. Clara was thoroughly at home with the whip. 
It was her delight to be out for an early drive at 
dawn along the fine country roads, returning in time 
for breakfast. 

It was a beautiful evening in June; the fire-fly was 
flitting hither and thither as she and Ralston drove 
along the river banks. In silence they neared the 
large, spacious grounds of an ancient monastery long 
since closed to the tread of feet and sound of voice. 
Beautifully situated where waters gently ripple and 
flow into the river Rhone, some distance from Avi- 
gnon, Clara broke the silence, as thoughtfully she 
tapped the dashboard with her whip. What a subject 
for vast thought! Where are the builders? Where 
are they who enlivened the interior with their beautiful 
lives of devotion? 

“Yes,” responded Ralston; “if walls could only 
speak ! Do you believe a life could be called beautiful 
behind such gloomy walls? They have every appear- 
ance of being haunted.” 

“Why, yes; I believe so,” quickly responded Clara. 
“The sacrifice at first of giving up the outer world 


CLARA MEETS RALSTON AGAIN 221 


might seem hard. But I believe I myself would enjoy 
the peaceful calm therein.” 

“Oh, do not say that!” quickly interrupted Ralston. 
“We will change the subject; the thought is distress- 
ing. Let us turn out of this road and leave these 
haunted-looking walls behind to the unhappy spirits, 
who knew not the joys of living.” 

“Certainly! As you wish,” replied Clara, “if they 
are so distasteful to you.” 

Driving a short distance, they came to a small 
bridge leading across the river. 

“Ah ! at last !” cried Ralston. “We will cross here, 
ere the old monastery continues to follow us like a 
phantom of the past.” 

By an inland road they drove home through avenues 
of beautiful trees along the mountain side. Here Ral- 
ston repeated his love of the past, and begged to be 
acknowledged Clara’s chosen suitor. 

“You know without a doubt, Clara, darling, that 
I love you. Yes, thrice as much as in the golden days 
that have sped us by. Dear one, do not let time 
crowd out all our happiness. You alone can make 
me the happiest of men. I am not worthy of your 
love, I know. But believe me, Clara, dear, my life 
will be a flame of devotion to you. Your very wish 
shall be gratified.” 

Clara remained silent, as they drove leisurely 
through a most picturesque spot along the mountain, 
overlooking a small village, where the river curved 
in and out in snake-like fashion. Looking into her face, 
Ralston remarked, “Silence gives consent.” 


222 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


After a moment’s pause Clara answered, “OuiT 

The birds, the shrubs and trees caught up the note, 
and, nodding their heads in approval, answered ''Oui! 
oui!” as they witnessed the kiss that sealed the promise 
she gave to be his bride. 

All was excitement in the Newbanks villa. Stately 
Miss Langley was the belle of the hour. It had been 
one continual round of pleasure since her arrival, and 
the young men openly avowed they would have con- 
sidered it fairer play had the mention of an '‘engage- 
ment” been deferred until they had had an opportunity 
of meeting Miss Langley. 

All was in preparation for the grand ball in honor 
of Ralston’s beautiful American fiancee. The grand 
dinner the evening previous was the topic of conver- 
sation. But the ball promised to eclipse everything. 
Never were decorations more elaborate. Everything, 
from the crystal tower on the lawn, one hundred and 
fifty feet high, was illuminated by ten thousand bulbs of 
every hue imaginable, down to the most minute detail. 
Everything glittered in splendor. Electric bulbs, 
shaded like the rainbow into the most delicate, changing 
hues, encircled the villa from lawn to dome. Four 
fountains, also decked in changing hues, threw out 
their cooling breezes from sparkling waters of innu- 
merable colors. 

Ah, the guests are coming ! And the gowns, marvels 
of beauty ! Who’ll describe them as they merit, or say 
this one is more beautiful than another? The splen- 
dor is too dazzling for my feeble sight. Let it be 
another’s task to judge which should win the prize. 


CLARA MEETS RALSTON AGAIN 223 


Miss Langley! Where is she? Ah! here comes 
Miss Rosebud Longworth! Surely the queen of the 
night, in sea-shell pink, an old flame of Ralston New- 
banks. Will he find it possible to resist such beauty 
for his American blonde? See! She is ablaze with 
diamonds, from the tiara on her head to the glittering 
butterfly on her dainty little slippers. Was ever queen 
more beautiful? Jet black hair, and eyes that sparkled 
like a sunbeam in a drop of dew. Her rich satin gown, 
an exclusive “Worth’’ creation, was draped in graceful 
folds, festooned here and there with huge clusters of 
diamonds and lace. Ah ! her companion. Count 

Erb . But who is this coming? All heads are 

peering in that direction. And a suppressed “Ah!” 
is heard as stately Miss Langley enters the 
room with Ralston, tall and erect as a princely pine 
in her native State, her handsome form in the most 
exquisite gown of cream lace in princess style ; a 
diamond necklace and girdle complete the decor- 
ation. In her beautiful blond hair glistens a dainty 
diamond rose, as with the fresh dew of morning. As 
her color heightens beneath a superb complexion 
and sparkling brown eyes you think of the dainty 
Dresden china. 

Rosebud Longworth was an acknowledged English 
beauty, who was made more renowned by her first 
season in Paris by the great German artist in his paint- 
ing, “Visions of Paradise,” accepted by the Exhibition 
of Fine Arts in Paris. 

But Miss Langley, the new star in the social firma- 
ment of gay Paris, had eclipsed Miss Longworth in 


224 


THE MYSTIC HHONE 


beauty. Now she glided in and out of the grand march, 
a dream of grace and loveliness. As the march ended 
each vied with the other to write his name on the 
“American beauty’s” card. 

While chatting with friends the music started up 
for the third dance. Lord Esterway stepped up and 
claimed Miss Langley as his partner for the dance. 
Away they glided, whirling in and about, passing and 
repassing Rosebud Longworth and Ralston New- 
banks. Whirling in and out among the mazy throng, 
they disappeared, and Clara and her partner did not 
see them during the remainder of the evening until, 
as the music died away, Lord Esterway was escorting 
Miss Langley to the palm garden. As they stepped 
upon the veranda he turned to assist Miss Langley 
with her wrap, when she suddenly caught sight of a 
male figure on bended knee before the beautiful Miss 
Longworth. Turning instantly to retrace her steps, 
she reeled, and would have sunk to the floor in a 
swoon had not Lord Esterway quickly caught her in 
his arms. The jar instantly revived her sufficiently 
to mutter, “Not a word, not a word, please !” 
gently placing one small hand over his mouth, as 
though fearing he would call for help. “The air! 
Take me out in the air, please!” Lie gently led her 
through another door, out beneath the shade trees to 
a rustic seat, where Clara sank down, as though 
exhausted, begging to remain a few moments quiet. 

“I fear you danced too long. Miss Langley,” said 
her partner. “The ball-room is poorly ventilated. I 
regret I did not notice your discomfort earlier!” 


CLARA MEETS RALSTON AGAIN 225 


“Oh, not at all!” cried Clara. “I enjoyed the dance. 
I will be all right presently, thank you! The room 
was very warm.” 

“Really, Miss Langley, you looked so well and 
charming I cannot quite understand the sudden 
change,” remarked Lord Esterway. “Allow me to 
bring you some refreshment!” 

“Oh, no, thank you!” quickly spoke Clara. “And 
still, upon second consideration, you may. A glass 
of pale wine will do.” 

He turned to give the order to a page just crossing 
the lawn. Clara, left alone, exclaimed : 

“Oh, how could he do it? And I, poor, foolish 
woman, considered him, of all others, so true and 
honorable! My brain fairly reels. I dare not think. 
At Madame Launde’s reception I forgave him. Now 
again, the same offense. Oh, I cannot, even now, 
believe my own eyes ! Can it really be there are no 
men truly honorable, if not for love, for honor’s sake 
alone? The thought is maddening! Denmark — Den- 
mark is rotten!” 

Lord Esterway advanced as the last sentence died 
away from Clara’s lips. She dank the wine, and after 
a few moments declared she felt much better, and 
would return, if he would kindly escort her around 
to the east portico, where she could enter without 
being detected by other guests loitering around. 

“Yes; I will do so with pleasure, my dear Miss 
Langley. But Mrs. Newbanks and the guests will 
inquire regarding your absence,” said Lord Esterway. 
“And, knowing your last dance was with me they will 


226 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


direct their attention to me for an answer. I will send 
Mrs. Newbanks to you at once.” 

“Oh, no! I beg of you, please not!” cried Clara. 
“Simply say I grew faint and retired for a few 
moments.” 

“As you will,” replied her partner, and returned to 
the palm room. But his mind was not at ease on the 
subject of remaining quiet. From a small alcove 
balcony, looking down upon the merry dancers, he 
peered long and earnestly, as though in search of some- 
one in particular. She cannot be there, he repeated 
to himself after one hour’s patient waiting. The dance 
has begun ; perhaps I will find her in the throng. After 
patiently waiting a few moments, he turned again 
toward the palm room when, just as he stepped out 
on the veranda, he came face to face with Mrs. New- 
banks in conversation with Prince Rudolph. 

“Ah, Mrs. Newbanks, and honored sir! pardon my 
intrusion. I have sought this lady for two hours. 
Allow me just a moment, please!” said Lord Esterway. 

“With pleasure,” replied Mrs. Newbanks, bowing 
an apology to the prince, and leaving him in company 
with Lady Grey. “Nothing serious, I trust, my lord ! 
You appear very pale,” remarked Mrs. Newbanks, 
anxiously, as he led her in the blue drawing room 
apart from other guests. 

“I hope not,” replied Lord Esterway, as he informed 
her of Miss Langley’s sudden indisposition, knowing 
no other cause than an over-heated ball-room. 

Mrs. Newbanks did not tarry long after learning 
this news. It had already been two hours or more. 


CLARA MEETS RALSTON AGAIN 227 


Hurrying herself to Miss Langley’s room, she tapped 
lightly, then louder, on the door. Receiving no 
response, she entered, calling, “Clara, dear! Clara, 
are you ill, darling?” Hastily turning on the light, 
thinking the child had fallen asleep or fainted, after a 
few moments’ search Mrs. Newbanks was amazed 
to find the room empty. 

“Oh, where can the dear child be?” exclaimed Mrs. 
Newbanks, growing alarmed. “Marie!” calling the 
maid, “where is Miss Langley? Have you seen her?” 

“Om‘, madame, ze Mile, come back maybe to- 
morrow !” 

- “What ! Miss Langley gone ? Where ?” cried Mrs. 
Newbanks. “Tell my son to come to me at once,” 
continued Mrs. Newbanks, much agitated. 

“Owf, madame!” replied Marie. 

When Ralston reached the room he found his 
mother on the verge of a nervous collapse. 

“Are you ill, mother ?” he cried, rushing to her side. 

“No, my son ! Is there any trouble between you and 
Clara? She is gone,” nervously cried his mother. 

“Gone !” exclaimed Ralston, sinking in a chair near 
his mother. “Impossible ! You are surely mistaken, 
mother. Why should Clara leave in such a manner? 
She has been kidnapped by Carlton Barnie !” exclaimed 
Ralston, jumping up and pacing the floor. “Marie!” 
he cried, as the maid entered the room, “you say Miss 
Langley has left? Did she leave no message? Why 
didn’t you notify someone ere this? No doubt some 
of your careless insolence has offended Miss Langley.” 

“Impossible, mon cher Monsieur!” replied Marie. 


228 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


“Ze Mile, not say she go until ze moment she leave ze 
boudoir.” 

The guests were informed of Miss Langley’s sud- 
den disappearance, and wild excitement ensued. 

“She has been kidnapped!” cried Mrs. Newbanks. 
“Never would Clara leave me thus I” 

A thorough search was made around the place, but 
no Clara could be found. Some of the male guests 
formed a party and started down the main road with 
huge torches, followed by Lady Grey, Mrs. Newbanks 
and Miss Longworth in all their ball-room finery, 
each suggesting a possible way of trapping the kid- 
napper. As the little party neared the river at the 
cross roads and were about to cross the bridge. Lady 
Grey stumbled over something in the road. As Mrs. 
Newbanks turned to assist her, the light from their 
torch fell on what Mrs. Newbanks at once recognized 
as Clara’s skirt and white scarf. 

“It is Clara’s !” she screamed, falling in a dead faint. 

This brought the entire party together. Lord Ester- 
way and Ralston carried Mrs. Newbanks back to the 
villa, while the remaining party continued the search 
in the hope of finding Clara. 

“Oh, she is drowned!” cried Lady Grey. 

“Yes,” responded Prince Rudolph. “I fear the 
worst now.” 

All decided to return and continue the search at 
daybreak, and have the river dredged, as a last resort. 
Most of the guests departed. Nothing profitable was 
gained by the following day’s search. Mrs. Newbanks 
and Ralston waited three days, but no tidings came of 


CLARA MEETS RALSTON AGAIN 229 


Clara, or any message regarding her belongings, 
including every diamond Ralston had given her. There 
they lay in the handsome gold jewel case, sparkling 
just as brilliantly as the night he presented them to 
Clara, but now reflecting no intelligence to his mind 
of his missing bride-elect. 

Mrs. Newbanks closed her villa, going to London, 
where she and Ralston engaged detectives to find Miss 
Langley, if possible. But not a trace or clue could be 
gained, the detectives claiming their services were 
sought too late. 

The handsome American beauty, seen only a short 
time ago on the Boulevard and in the busy mart, 
making purchases for her approaching wedding, 
was gone. Now all was changed, leaving the New- 
banks perfectly blank. 


CHAPTER XX. 


BACK TO AMERICA. 

W HEN Clara left Lord Esterway in the main corri- 
dor, she sought her own private room. Marie, 
the French maid, who had learned to love Miss Lang- 
ley, entreated her many times to take her as private 
maid when she and Monsieur Ralston married. Marie 
was alone in the hall as Clara ascended the broad 
stairs. 

‘'Can I assist ze Mile.?’' she hastily inquired as 
Clara entered her room. 

“Yes, Marie! Follow me!” 

When the door closed, Clara addressed the maid : 
“Now, Marie, can I trust you?” 

“Owf, Mile., ouir answered Marie. 

“Well,” remarked Clara, “have you a plain — very 
plain dark dress — you will lend me? It must be very 
plain.” 

After a moment’s pause Marie exclaimed : 

“Om, Mile. I give you one I have.” 

“Go, bring it to me at once!” commanded Clara. 
“Allow no one to see you ! Quick, now !” 

“Here, Mile. !” replied Marie, as she returned, all 
out of breath, and overjoyed to think of being of 
service to beautiful Miss Langley. 

“This, Mile., a dark-green dress ; my very best ; me 
never wear yet. Will ze Mile, like it?” 

“Oh, yes ! yes, Marie ! that is fine ; the very thing,” 
hastily replied Clara, handing Marie a sealed 


BACK TO AMERICA 


231 


envelope, with instructions not to open it for two 
hours. 

“I may return to-morrow. But, remember, Marie, 
I have your word of honor that you can be trusted. 
Tell no one of the color of my dress. Good-bye, my 
worthy maid ! Good-bye !” repeated Clara Langley, 
as she slipped out of the door and into the night 
by the east driveway, unused by the public. 

Clara had carefully dressed in Marie’s green dress, 
then slipped one of her own walking skirts and short 
jackets over same, with a soft, felt hat tucked under 
her arm, wearing a scarf thrown over her head while 
leaving the house. 

Marie could not imagine what Miss Langley had 
done with her green dress since she wore one of her 
own away. After carefully searching the room, Marie 
remained puzzled. No trace of the green dress could 
be found ; ‘‘and ze Mile, carry no bundle.” But her lips 
were sealed tight, for already she had opened the 
envelope and discovered fifty dollars. 

When Clara had walked some distance, she stepped 
out of the main road a moment. Taking off her own 
walking skirt and jacket, and donning a black wig 
she had used at masque balls at home, and the soft, felt 
hat, it would have been hard for anyone to recognize 
her as she proceeded on her way toward the little 
railway station. After purchasing her ticket she 
retired to the ladies’ waiting-room until the train 
arrived. On reaching Baden Baden, Clara purchased 
another ticket to Berlin. On arriving there, she took a 
carriage to a small village, five miles out, where she 


232 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


rested a few weeks unmolested. She knew if the 
Newbanks made any attempt to search for her at all 
their attention would be directed toward out-going 
steamers, or to London, where they knew she had 
many friends, who would gladly offer her aid in 
secluding herself. Feeling quite safe to venture out, 
after three months’ rusticating under an assumed 
name, Clara Langley sailed for home on the Ham- 
burg line. Arriving on her own native soil once 
more, she went straight to the Jesuit College to inter- 
view Father Stacy, an old friend of the family, implor- 
ing his advice and council. The only other friend 
she sought was her mother’s old friend, Mrs. Rand 
(Jean). 

Driving at twilight together through the beautiful 
park, all nature seemed wrapped in sweet repose. The 
birds had flown to their resting-place. Only the horses’ 
tread was heard, or the splashing of an oar on the 
lake, as now a row-boat glided softly in sight, then 
disappeared. After relating some of her varied 
experiences abroad, Clara exclaimed, “Denmark’s 
rotten ! Denmark’s rotten ! Choose this day whom ye 
shall serve, God or Mammon! Denmark’s rotten!” 

“His letters, my dear, would lead one to believe his 
love was yours alone!” ejaculated Jean. “Don’t be 
too hasty ! Realize how the happiness of two lives 
depends on your action in this matter.” 

“Yes,” responded Clara, quickly. “His letters and 
conversation speak all of that. But, oh, my dear 
friend, what mine own eyes have seen ! The seed of 
doubt has been sown in my mind too deep, I fear, to be 


BACK TO AMERICA 


233 


erased. It rises continually with a dreadful 
fear that he would only prove unfaithful to me — 
unfaithful!” cried Clara. “I could never stand it! It 
would kill me. The very thought of bearing children 
to a man untrue is revolting, maddening. I would 
want my children to move in the same exclusive circles 
I have ever been accustomed to, and enjoy the same 
advantages.” 

“Yes,” interrupted Jean, “your children, Clara, dear! 
That’s the mainspring in a woman’s life. You would 
wish them smart and talented, even brilliant, fond of 
flowers, music, poetry, art, and everything dainty and 
just so. You would be miserable if things were other- 
wise.” 

“Oh, miserable! That would nev6r express my 
woe!” cried Clara. “Yes, you have struck the key- 
note of my nature, and my mind regarding just the 
kind of children I would crave for. But, oh, it is 
impossible ! Denmark’s rotten ! How could my faintest 
wish prove a reality and happiness if my husband 
proved unfaithful?” 

“Yes,” remarked Jean, “my dear girl, others have 
built as bright castles as you now build, only to see 
them dashed against the rocks of experience and dis- 
appointment. If you do not feel, Clara, dear, that 
you can marry and accept the inevitable and varied 
experience that must and does come into every life 
without doubting the very step and breath of the one 
you choose for better or worse, then, my girl, the con- 
vent, with its peaceful calm, far from the world and 
its strife, is the proper place for you. As your adviser, 


234 


THE MYSTIC ’PHONE 


Father Stacy admits, with your mind looking for 
perfection in man, without making any allowances 
for his weakness, or having the charity that covereth 
a multitude of sins, looking for perfection, only to find 
each day the tide returns, carrying away on its waves 
the hopes you fondly cherished. To smile in the face 
of disappointment, dispair and shattered hopes, this 
is part of life.” 

“Oh, I never could live through it!” exclaimed 
Clara. “Choose this day whom ye shall serve — God 
or Mammon, master or slave — which shall it be?” 

Jean drove Clara to her hotel, then returned in a 
very thoughtful mood to her own home, reflecting 
deeply on Clara’s conversation. 

Next morning, bright and early, Clara drove out 
to see Father Stacy again, informing him of her 
intentions to enter the convent. He seemed even dis- 
appointed regarding her decision. 

“O Father !” she continued, “I have taken your 
advice, and meditated long and thoughtfully over this 
matter. I never could stand the imperfection of the 
world. I am not brave enough to face life’s battle 
outside.” 

“My child, I hope you have considered the step 
deeply on all sides,” said Father Stacy, in his calm, 
gentle way. For remember, my child, in every walk 
of life, be it behind the cloister, or in the busy outside 
world, wherever the human heart beats and throbs, 
there you will find sin and imperfection. No one, my 
child, is perfect. No life or place is void of its sor- 
row, even though it seems all pleasure. If we do 


BACK TO AMERICA 


235 


right, look ever for the bright side — for remember, 
my child, and weigh it well — no place in this life, 
no matter how holy, is void of sin and sorrow, of 
shadow and clouds, which are continually obscuring 
the sunshine. In this life of continual change we 
must make the best of each moment. With your 
youth and wealth to enjoy the world, think well, my 
child, before taking this step. It means death to the 
world and a resurrection into another life so vastly 
different. All are not fitted to serve in its trend, 
which, believe me, my child, is a strenuous life. Ask 
earnestly of God to help you battle for the right 
decision. Your opinion of to-day may be very different 
to-morrow.” 

“Oh, I have fought the battle. Father !” cried Clara, 
“and am convinced it is the only bright star of hope 
on life’s fickle sea for me. Infidelity! O Father, I 
never could stand it! Yes; I have won the battle; 
and it is to serve God and not Mammon,” said Clara, 
firmly. 

Two weeks later, in a little chapel in the convent of 
St. Agnes, there walked down the aisle one clothed 
in all the splendor of a bride — white satin lace and 
orange blossoms caught up in the delicate folds of 
the rich tulle veil, which enveloped the bride, falling 
in graceful folds the length of the train. At the altar she 
became the bride of the church, leaving the little chapel 
all wreathed in smiles, only to return a few moments 
later robed in sombre black. At the little altar rail a 
coffin stands waiting. In the second ceremony the 
sombre-robed figure now solemnly renounces the 


236 


THE MYSTIC THONE 


world, is placed in the coffin and the funeral ceremony 
preached over her, making her ever after dead to the 
world. 

And this was the initiative ceremony of Clara Lang- 
ley Millet, now Sister Mary Catherin. Whether 
happy or otherwise we shall never know, but trust 
that within that peaceful atmosphere her heart found 
the sincerity and truth it craved. We only know, after 
two years, as Sister Mary Catherin, Clara Langley 
Millet passed out of this life we hope into the realm of 
perfection and bliss. 

Ralston Newbanks never married until years after 
Clara died. Then, amid palms and orchards, he, an 
old bachelor, led Rosebud Longworth to the altar as 
his bride. 

Jean had tried her luck in the matrimonial lottery 
without drawing a prize either time, but consoled her- 
self that at least Edna had been more fortunate in 
marriage and was happy. For how truly strange the 
fates rule throughout the scenes ! Edna Nash, grown 
to be a beautiful woman, was visiting in Tacoma when 
she met Carlton Barnie. He was much older than 
Edna, but '‘Cupid,” the versatile god, marks his own 
path to travel in, and this was but another case of love 
at first sight, ending in a romantic marriage on St. 
Valentine’s Day aboard a private car as it sped across 
the Rockies to the Pacific Coast, where Carlton Barnie 
embarked with his young bride for Australia. 


THE END. 



JAN 8 '907 



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